


Maybe Not Anwhere

by softcorevulcan



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Character Study, F/M, Hook Up, M/M, One Night Stands, Open Relationships, PWP, Porn With Plot, Pre-Series, Starfleet Academy, Telepathy, Vulcan Kisses, pining!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcorevulcan/pseuds/softcorevulcan
Summary: AU Where everything is the same except Spock runs into Jim before the events of the movie. Mostly PWP, but the plot that exists is heavy on Spock-centric character study.Spock and Nyota deal with the fact their relationship is not exactly ideal, when Captain Pike promotes Spock to first officer, by deciding to break up for a little while and try to convince people they aren't together. Spock ticks off far too many people, and Jim just wanted to pass the Kobayashi Maru - he never meant to ruin everything like this, he didn't know. Meanwhile, Spock wonders if everything would be better off if he didn't feel anything.





	1. It was a mistake

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is not a rosy story. I wrote this because I wanted to flesh out the idea of what Spock's life might have been like before the events of the movies, and how it might be different if he had met Jim before those events as well. It was an excuse to flesh out a lot of headcanons I have about who Spock might of been, what he thought of Uhura, Pike, his family, his duties, himself. If there's a main pairing, it's Kirk/Spock, though I can't guarantee they'll be resolved happily, they just get the highest word count. There's a lot of Uhura/Spock too, because he loves her, and the only reason they're not full on together in this is because Pike just lost his love and Spock's terrified if he stays too close to Uhura, he'll have to lose her just the same. And getting to know Uhura in any capacity is better to him, then losing her completely. Hell, there's even a fair chunk of Pike/Spock if you're squinting, because I think Pike was the first human outside of family that Spock decided was admirable. Mostly, there's a lot of Spock being stupid, when he's attempting to try his best.
> 
> And to me, that's kind of the spirit of Star Trek. No matter what happens, what's going on, you try your best to do the right thing. 
> 
> 2\. I have a lot of headcanons about Uhura, and if you've read any of my other fics, you might notice a recurring idea that Uhura wants to be free, to be herself, and to always have a home she can fall back on. Which was the whole basis of 'of a kind'. There's a lot of that aspect of her here too, and though it's not a direct feature, I think a big conflict under the surface between her and Spock's compatibility, is that Spock is not stable like a home, and Spock enjoys being part of a unit instead of separate. Spock wants to merge with someone else, and I think Uhura would never really want to lose herself that way. (Which, if you like TOS, is maybe why she ended up with Scotty - he's stable, and a lot like the Enterprise - he's home and the freedom to explore on their own or together, all at once. To me, anyway.) 
> 
> 3\. Fun fact: I'm writing a mirrorverse-centric fic with a lot of alternate universe Spocks and Jims cameoing, and this whole story came about because these were two of the cameo characters and I started thinking WAY too much about how they and the universe they came from was different. (The mirrorverse-centric fic is about 60% done).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Uhura decide to try having an open relationship for a while.

Spock decides to embrace the plan. “Another shot, please.”

He downs it, immediately requests yet another. The human on the other side of the counter doesn’t bother putting the bottle away this time, Spock’s already made them run back and forth five times in succession. “You want me to just leave the bottle?”

Spock gives a small nod. “That would be appreciated.”

Nyota is in the middle of the room, surrounded by bodies that glisten with sweat, from the heat of the dance floor, the heat of the masses. Nyota’s hair is up in braids, with little shimmers of gold threaded through, to match her tight small golden dress. It makes her glitter, like a shining star in the darkness of the bar.

Spock wishes he were over there. Holding her, hands on her and around her and close enough to make anyone else think twice about putting their own upon her.

But instead, there is some brunette in her own skant dress, red and dull, against Nyota’s skin as they grind together. And Spock should not be interfering.

He catches Gaila staring at him then, from her perch on the second floor wrap around, standing beside a group of five lively drunkards as she gives him a pitying simper. It’s revolting.

Spock pretends it never happened, goes back to the bottle of Romulan ale in front of him and pours himself a bigger shot this time. Then another.

He never should have come.

  
________________________________________________  


_3 Months Ago:_

 

The deck of the Intrepid is on fire.

Captain Pike is shouting orders, but that only lasts so long before the intercom goes out. Number One is looking at Spock’s direct superior, Science Officer Diono, and him -  she shouts “Get to deck five! Try to get life support back on, tell engineering what’s going on up here!”

Spock is ordered by Diono to accompany him, and they escape the fires of the bridge to the chambers of the damaged ship, where the turbolift they’re in stalls, and gravity is no longer working.

They’re alerting the engineers they find of the Captain’s last known orders - “Hit em with anything we’ve got left! Make something new if we haven’t got anything, just hit them back” - when the ship shudders again. Another successful attack, the Intrepid is threatening to rip into pieces, and the hallway they’re in lights up. Ablaze.

Diono doesn’t make it.

Spock follows his training, makes saving lives the priority in that moment, and evacuates as many as he can off of this deck before the safety clamps come down and seal it off. Air is leaking out, plasma fires are spreading, and no one ever finds Diono’s body.

Later, when they’re docked at the Starbase nearest Earth, debriefing, and there’s a chance to sweep the ship, finally, no one ever finds it.

Spock suspects it got sucked out into space, like most things on that level did, near the breach.

After he evacuates those he can, engineering gets the comm system back up, for minutes. And Captain Pike is updated. He orders Spock back, he needs someone manning tactical, the bridge crew numbers have dwindled.

Later, Captain Pike tells Spock he performed admirably.

Pike maintains the promotion Spock was delivered in the midst of the combat.

Spock is now head science officer of Captain Pike’s chosen crew.  


________________________________________________  
  
_  
4 Months Ago:_

 

Spock, rather often, finds himself avoiding introspection where Cadet Nyota Uhura is involved.

“You were right, I do love this place,” Nyota smiles against the mug she’s just pulled away from her lips, then sets it down to take another bite of the apple pie they serve here. It is homemade, better than any attempts Spock’s mother ever managed while on Vulcan. Mother loves this restaurant, and she’d imparted that fondness onto her son, it seems.

The fireplace behind them is welcome as well, hot like back home. This whole place reminds him of home, despite how kitschy human it attempts to present itself.

Spock takes another sip of his own coffee, a mint mocha latte Nyota picked out for him, his third, and doesn’t catch himself smiling softly at her until it’s too late.

She laughs, light and airy, and her hand grazes his arm over the thick knit of the sweater he’s wearing. He still feels like he’s been jolted.

He knows this is a bad idea. But then she starts talking about her classes again, how she never thought piloting would be something she'd personally - love.

And he can’t help but decide in his head that they’ll have to do this again next week, or as soon as they both get the time. They are busy people, and since Nyota is about to finish his class, he doubts he will see her at his bi-monthly linguistic tutoring sessions nearly as often.

“Spock?” She grazes his arm again, and it never ceases to make his nerves flutter, his chest buzz with warmth. He meets her eyes, realizes much too belatedly that he is lost.

He fell for her a long time ago.

He shouldn’t be here, indulging like this.

Last week, she came into his office, a regular enough occurrence. And she asked how he was doing, and discussed the reading he’d suggested to her - all typical habits of hers. Then she had told him in Vulcan “I love spending time with you, Spock” and he’d accidentally walked into the corner of his desk instead of around it, because the word _love_ is not thrown out like that back on his father’s planet.

And only mother ever uses it so liberally, and he never expected to hear it in San Francisco, unless it was accompanying his father scowling at him and hypocritically pretending he doesn’t exist simultaneously as his mother pleads with such unreasonable behavior.

“Spock?” She’d leaned forward, worriedly looked at his hip where he’d collided - though Spock in that instant had been so much more concerned with the fact she had omitted the title ‘Professor’.

“It does not hurt.” Spock found he could not find appropriate words to direct the conversation forward.

“I’m sorry if I shocked you.” Nyota’s laughs were always so melodious, inexplicably charming. Like she was made of the air, and the wind, and if only you surrounded yourself with her, you would be able to fly free as well. Not be trapped, within.

Spock shook his head, immediate forgiveness.

“I was just wondering, if, you’d like to accompany me to the Orion Opera that’s showing downtown in three weeks.” Cadet Uhura pulled out two tickets, then, and as relieved Spock was that she had moved away from loving platitudes, he had become renewed with anxiety at this newest declaration.

A proposal.

She offered the tickets out to him, and her gaze never faltered. He knows, she knew what she was really asking. They both did.

But it was also - just an opera. Just a concert. It could simply be that. One single event they went together to.

Just like every office visit of hers, where she talked to him for too many minutes, and leaned against his desk, and he played instruments for her and smiled as he quoted ancient Vulcan poetry in a veiled attempt to impress her - but mostly just because he couldn’t bear to refuse such serene company - were just events. Just a student seeing her teacher, the simple camaraderie, of a mentor and pupil.

Just like every tutoring session he held, could simply amount to her showing up, to aid her less gifted peers, or to expand the ever increasing wells of her own knowledge. The looks they shared as she rattled out answers he could have just spoken himself, they could simply be that.

Not admiration, too. It didn’t have to be.

Not favoritism. Not fondness. It didn’t have to be anything close to that.

No feelings need be considered, they could easily be irrelevant.

Their little outings for coffee after the sessions, sometimes, just the two of them - the rest of the group dispersed - could amount to simple happenstance. Coincidence, that they were the only two left, the only two who were hungry, or thirsty.

The fact they stayed there for hours, or saw each other the next morning before class, or sent each other little messages throughout the days they didn’t happen to cross paths - insignificant. Not even worth noting.

What a fool Spock was. To have pretended this was nothing, would become nothing.

Nyota. Cadet Uhura.

Nyota offered the tickets to him, and he took them from her hand, held her hands in his for a brief moment as she smiled, and said, “I would like that, Nyota.”

That date. It is still a week away.

Nyota is across from him in this little warm cozy cafe, and he wants nothing more than to lean across the tiny table between them and kiss her so that she might light up as much as he is already, inside. Her hand sweeps past his arm again, over his sleeve, and he wants so desperately for it to slip down a few more tiny inches, touch his hand. So that he can feel her.

Really feel her. Instead of just these little electric shadows of fondness that’s drifting through his sleeve.

He doesn’t realize until he’s walking her home, inexplicably stumbling like an uncoordinated puppet, that he’s had far too much processed sugar. And that he should have regulated his behavior more. And as Nyota walks with her arm wrapped around his hips, and his own arm wrapped around her shoulder, he berates himself for the impulse to want to hold her hand.

Spock insists he is well, “I am simply tired,” he lies badly, but Nyota doesn’t know that he _can_ lie, so she simply believes him, and agrees that he’s adequate enough to walk himself home instead of spending the night.

Spock is grateful, because he doesn’t think he could bare to keep this professional distance for another week, if they truly had a moment alone. Inside her dorm room it would be too tempting to not ask her if they could meet - kiss.

Admit what’s going on.

Nyota is brilliant, and she is ultimately also right about this. It is only logical not to engage each other romantically until she is out of his class.

So they wait.  


________________________________________________

_  
2.5 Weeks Ago: _

 

Number One is being transferred. Officially, Christopher Pike tells Spock it is because she was offered a biological survey mission on a planet under consideration for colonization.

Unofficially, Spock knows exactly why he’s being suddenly promoted to First Officer.

“It’s not like that, Spock,” Captain Pike says as he’s dodging through his office door at Starfleet Headquarters, doubtless in an instinctive attempt to escape from his newly promoted number one. Which, he adamantly refuses to refer to Spock by.

And Spock understands.

“For the last time, Spock!” Pike whips around, the instant Spock is within the office boundaries as well and the metal door slides shut. “I am making you my first officer because I can’t think of anyone I trust more to carry out my orders, question my judgement when it might be unsound, help delegate my crew, and make decisions I could live with when I’m not there to give them.”

“Besides her.”

“Spock -” Pike’s mouth is hanging open, hands propping him up from his desk as he holds himself behind it to stare back at Spock, but there is nothing to really say. So nothing comes out.

The only reason Spock does not continue this line of questioning is because he has only been Christopher Pike’s first officer for 2.65 days now and already Pike has ordered him to “cut out the backtalk” seventeen times.

Another reason Spock may not exactly be the ideal person to fill this position for Pike.

“Look,” Pike lets his head fall, looks down at the ground. Spock sympathizes with the sentiment. “I know this isn’t exactly how you imagined your career was going to progress. And -” Pike doesn’t let Spock cut him off, speaks over Spock instead, probably tired already today of telling him to shut the hell up. “I know, the first promotion was sudden enough, and now this, but -” Pike has lifted his head to stare him down, “you really are the best person for the job. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve made my choice, and you’re it.”

He looks like a captain. Christopher Pike always does, but Spock has never really known him like this, not until recently. Pike has never looked exasperated, or tired, or stressed, or any of those other human emotions that lend themselves towards irrationality in the average person.

In Pike, those traits don’t diminish his judgement, his ability to make sound decisions and carry through with them. Spock’s captain is a rare sight among humans, or even any species Spock has met - he is a person who can stick to his values and integrity under any circumstance.

Even these.

“The fact remains, the two of you worked better together than I - it will take considerable time and effort before I can assist you as exceptionally as she has in her role as first officer. She is irreplaceable, and an invaluable asset on the crew. The reason she was transferred is not adequate. She will not be serving the Federation to her fullest capacity on Omerius V. Starfleet has made a mistake.”

“Jesus, Spock,” Christopher has sweat on his brow, no doubt questioning to himself for the fifth time today if Spock even likes Starfleet at all.

But Pike has been saying the same little derogatory digs about Starfleet ever since their mission on the Intrepid. They were never supposed to have run into combat. It had been meant to be intelligence gathering only. To see what was being done to the dark side of the planet closest to the Neutral Zone. No one was briefed on the reality of the situation.

People died. And Pike hasn’t forgiven anyone for that. Least of all himself.

“She should still be your first officer. That is the only correct choice.”

“You do know what I say goes, don’t you? Did you miss that lecture in the command track training I told you to take last month to prep you better for command situations?” Pike good and well knows Spock attended every hour of that accelerated course, and knows every single case study featured within it by heart. “The correct choice, is the choice you are being given. These are your orders.”

Pike finally, finally, collapses into the chair behind his desk.

“It’s not up to you to decide if they’re fair. That’s between me and Starfleet, and I’ll handle it.” The captain is looking out the window, and Spock sees everything he does - the city, the campus and the little specs of uniformed bodies walking across it.

They see a civilization, a collection of rules and people all trying to make order of lives. Imperfectly. Because no one, anywhere, has ever managed to figure it all the way out.

Sure, colonists like to reminisce that on Earth, crime has been eradicated. The Federation is safe, is safety, and Starfleet is protection.

But it is all just people. And people can fail. Even when they’re trying.

Just like Pike did.

Spock joined Starfleet because he’d rather be one of those trying to make things better, instead of doing nothing at all, instead of leaving those responsibilities up to other people.

“It’s my responsibility, Spock. Not yours.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

Spock refuses to accept that answer.

“No. Reign it in before I have to dismiss you, do not do this aga - I know it’s not - but there are rules against it. Unenforced, usually, but there is a precedent. If someone wants to reassign her, because we’re - involved - then they have that power.” Pike is speaking like a Vulcan, like Spock’s own father, monotone as he reels in whatever it is he’s really feeling. “I always knew this was a possibility.”

“But -”

“Nogura’s had it in for me for years.” Pike motions for Spock to sit down across from him, then clasps his hands and leans his head on them. The energy is gone from this conversation, from this room.

Pike is done letting himself feel, for the moment. “Maybe this is his way of trying to get me to back down about the shitstorm the Intrepid mission turned out to be, thanks to his shoddy intel. Maybe, he’s just following regulation, or someone else high up is.” Pike is willing Spock to stay silent and acquiesce, it’s all in the eyes, the stare inexplicably gluing Spock to the back of his chair.

“I was. Breaking the rules. It was going to catch up to me sometime. Mostly, I’m just sorry I didn’t do it by the book. This could have reflected on my whole crew, if they’d handled it less discretely. And none of you deserve that. You’re all phenomenal officers.”

“She is too. I have no doubt you never reassigned her yourself because you knew, with utmost confidence, that she would serve Starfleet better on your crew, on our mission, then in any other post. And I am certain that you knew of the emotional risk, and diligently mitigated it. I never felt my safety was unduly compromised by any judgement being clouded on your part ever, including in regard to her. Not a single crewman would disagree with my position on this. And her leadership never faltered either, when she was in command, due to any relationships she had or otherwise. This decision -”

“Was perfectly legal, and is over and done with.” Spock wishes he could be like Christopher Pike, able to base all his decisions on pure rationality, and still show undeniably that he cares - that every action is being guided by a sense of morality that is shaped by that rational, that is sure. Unfailing.

“I need you to let this go, Spock. I need your help full time on getting a crew together and in shape by the time the Enterprise launches. -And I know you can multitask, but you’re already responsible for science department duties, still, and the revamp trials of the Kobayashi Maru before testing restarts, and I want you to get some more interdepartmental training if there’s anywhere to fit it, because you’ll be more help as a first officer if you really can handle any situation that might crop up, and I know you don’t have as much of that training as you’d like -”

“Si-”

“Just, please try to work with me. I need you right now, Spock.”

“I understand, sir.”

Christopher Pike looks so tired. In the future Spock should endeavor to minimize causing such exhaustion in his captain, it’s in direct opposition to his new responsibilities.

Spock doesn’t say ‘I’m sorry.’ Because he isn’t. But also, because Pike might be the only human alive who knows Spock is only so desperate to fight this, because he cares. So much.

Too much.

If Spock has the time, he’s going to help Pike handle Nogura. Injustice will not stand.

It should not be tolerated.  


________________________________________________

_  
13 Days Ago: _

 

Nyota is furious. She is pretending to hide it but like all humans, it is painfully apparent when her emotions overtake her.

“It’s not as simple as that.” All cold rage, in the tempo of her voice as its painstakingly moderated, the locked set of her eyes like she thinks if she just meticulously holds still enough she might be able to resist the emotional pressure to release tears.

“It is exactly as simple as that. We were already in violation of Starfleet policies when we began this relationship, and now -”

“Technically there was no superior officer I had to inform, and technically you were no longer in my line of command since you were no longer my teacher -”

“That is a misstatement as I was still in a position of authority to you, and regardless could have used my position -”

“But you didn’t, you wouldn’t have anyway, but you didn’t and there was nothing we were doing wrong, are doing -”

“I am a Commander now, Nyota.”

She hates the truth, when it isn’t the truth she wants. If Spock were to ever utter the declaration ‘I love you’ it might have some profoundly opposite effect to what this declaration does to her. Maybe, it would have exactly the same effect.

It certainly makes Spock grow cold, to think about ever voicing it.

“...but I’m not on your crew, I’m not subordinate.”

“You are still a cadet.” Which as they both know, makes it even worse.

“You didn’t know. You had no way of knowing you were going to climb the ranks this fast,” Nyota is starting to move, a disguised pacing, and Spock can already sense her brain whirling, trying to justify whatever she’s planning to do. When really, she should just let this end.

It’s already too hard. This is unbearable.

“Look, our original plan - I graduate, then there’s no issue. If we’re on different crews, still barely any possibility of even the potential for abuse of power there. Nothing for anyone, anyone, to raise a case over. If we’re on the same crew, then we’d just… have to wait a little while longer, until our ranks are a bit less. Severe.”

“There is-”

“It’s not like this is even that big of a deal, Spock.” She’s changed strategies, now her tone is accusing, playing pretend at some poor excuse for Vulcan indifference. Spock wonders if he ever sounds like this. “Fraternization is only forbidden under certain circumstances, when it compromises the ability of the officers to do their jobs to the best of their abilities. And rank difference or not, if you don’t give me orders - which you don’t - then there’s not even a chance that it factors in. The only reason it might, is if we end up on the same crew, once I - once I graduate.”

She is in front of him now, touching him, and it’s unbearable. She has her hands on his arms, soothing movements, solid, but Spock can not feel anything. She is warm flesh, and silence.

“We will handle that, if and when it happens. Spock,” one hand of hers is stroking his neck, fingers carding up through his hair. And still nothing, no spark. She is solid walls encasing herself, and he feels alone. Even without the walls he put up, to try and handle this encounter without breaking as he told her, he thinks he would still feel nothing coming from her.

She doesn’t know, probably doesn’t realize, but she doesn’t want him to feel it. Otherwise it could not be clasped so tight, barricaded.

“But even then, there are other solutions besides breaking up, you know,” her voice is soft. “You don’t… have to lose me, we don’t have to lose this. Unless _we_ want to.”

Spock finds himself nodding, as she holds his head. But he does not understand how she can be so sure.

“You don’t want to stop seeing me, do you?”

“Of course not, Nyota.” Spock feels helpless. Powerless.

Feelings are abhorrent. He would be better off, they would be better off, if he did not have them. “But I will not let you jeopardize your career for -”

“No one is going to lose anything,” Nyota says, simply, as if confirming to a toddler that miraculously and perfectly, one plus one equals two.

Spock does not understand. “Nyota, we can not maintain this relationship, this level of familiarity, with our current positions within -”

“Why? Why specifically though? Are you worried someone is going to decide to stop us?”

“Someone is very likely to at the moment.”

Nyota’s eyes grow hard again, and her voice can no longer feign confidence. “What is it?”

“Captain Pike’s first officer was reassigned because they were involved - there was very little difference in power between their - positions.”

Nyota finally, finally, seems to understand the gravity of why Spock has come here.

“Captain Nogura is… at odds with my captain, at present. He has been investigating into the affairs of my crew, invasively. For no apparent justifiable reason. I can not tell you how I am involved in the situation, but.” Spock doesn’t know how to word this.

Remembers utterly ignoring - more arguably sidestepping - his captain’s advice, and storming - more accurately defined as directly moving - to Nogura’s office at Starfleet HQ and standing in front of the man’s desk to confront him.

Pike was not happy at all when he found out.

Nogura had disregarded Spock’s words and then promptly dismissed him, and so when Spock accompanied Captain Pike to the intelligence update meeting the following morning, Spock resumed his - handling of the situation. Captain Nogura kept making thinly veiled xenophobic statements and Spock made no effort to hide the fact he considered Nogura’s job performance to be substandard, incompetent, and a danger to others. Both in retrospect of the Intrepid mission, and on any further tasks.

The man had turned hot and sweaty, unable to control how moved he was by Spock’s words. The other captains at the meeting had been… bystanders to the scene. Pike said later that they had viewed Spock as wholly out of line for what he’d done. That Pike had stayed after to convince them afterwards that his outburst had simply been some cultural misnomer due to difference in societal norms between where Spock was from and Earth. “Which was bullshit, of course. I know you, and you knew exactly what you were doing. That was -”

“Out of line? I beg to disagree. I believe, if it had been truly in error, you would have stopped me. If you had disagreed with my statements in that room, you would have corrected them. He has shown multiple errors in judgement, that have and likely will result in lives lost. The other officers in that room deserved to know that, so that they can make the best possible decision as to how he should contribute or function within these tasks in the future. If he even should -”

“Spock. That’s enough.”

Nogura, of course, proved to be slightly more than just an incompetent, reckless captain. The antithesis of Spock’s own. Nogura, Spock discovered, was having romantic liaisons with an ensign that worked on the first floor of Starfleet HQ’s main offices. Nogura, Spock also discovered, was digging into the future Enterprise crew potentials to see if he could reassign any more of Pike’s exceptional picks to his own crew.

Pike never told Spock, but it became apparent there was some disagreement over which crew, which captain, should be getting the Enterprise.

And if, at some point, Nogura cared about playing fair, that was apparently not a courtesy he thought the heartless Vulcan Commander deserved to have extended to him.   


________________________________________________

 

Nyota’s plan was simple, if unbearable.

But the alternative, was never seeing her again. Not being with her at all. And that was decidedly worse.

They would have an open relationship. Officially, they’d break up. Just for a while. Just until things calmed down, and maybe until Nyota graduated. At most, a handful of months. Nyota would see other people, be seen with, and no one would have any reason to assume she had some special familiarity with Spock beyond, at most, friendship.

Spock, theoretically, would be seen with a few others as well, to further establish how Nyota’s presence was no more special to the outside observer, than any other company he kept.

If they still slept together, no one really had to know. They’d always been rather discreet about that anyway.

Only Nyota’s roommate Gaila knew. And she’d been keeping their secret for a while, Spock couldn’t expect that risk to change for better, or worse, at this point.

But no more outings.

Not here, not where cadets and officers and their friends could so easily take note of the single Vulcan in all of Starfleet spending his hours admiring the talented, well loved and known, shining star that is Nyota Uhura.

That is precisely why they need to be distant for a while. Because too many people, regardless of the lengths Spock has always been to be discreet, that Nyota has taken to not talk and share, already whisper sometimes. Gaila’s propensity to share gossip didn’t help with that.  

So, here they were, hours out from San Francisco. In a club where the only Starfleet officers were likely to be Gaila, Uhura, and himself.

An hour ago, Spock had messed up.

He’d been drinking, with her. Because she loved the energy of a busy room, of live music, and had just gotten back from a try at karaoke. She’d had a fair amount to drink, enough to talk a little louder then she thought she did, enough to sway a little more than she planned as she moved. She’d giggled and smiled, held his arm and leaned on him as her and Gaila cheered at the sight of Spock being reckless, just a little, just like everyone else here.

They’d kissed then, and Nyota was in his arms again and everything was fine, would be fine, and he never wanted it to stop.

Eventually Gaila had pulled at Nyota’s arm, until there was space between, and told them “you two aren’t doing a very good job at this whole break up thing, you know.” Spock had just kissed Nyota, again, her head in his hand, her hips against his, letting Gaila fade away to nonexistence. Maybe if they didn’t notice her, she’d go away.

But Nyota only kept it up for another minute, before she put distance between them herself, a sad twinge to her eyes. “I think she’s right. If we’re only with each other, that’s not really establishing we’re not together, is it?”

Spock caught himself in time to refrain from pouting, barely. “How unlikely is it that there’s anyone else who might know us here?”

“It’s not likely, but. I did just go up and sing. And you know how good I am,” Spock smiled at her, “someone might talk about how good the show was, could get back. Best if the story doesn’t include ‘singing girl who looked like me was making out with a Vulcan all night’.”

Spock rarely hated being the first. He often enjoyed breaking new grounds. But in this particular instance, standing out was an aspect of himself he wished he could fight in an alley until it was out of his way.

As she went out to dance, he sat down at the bar.

A few songs later, she came back, slightly tired, and asked for a water. For a moment, everything was okay, warm, she was leaning against him. He was a few more shots in, grabbed her hand to kiss her.

It was easy, like nothing. He just reached out, put his hand over hers, and gave her everything he felt. How grateful he was, for her. That.

It was supposed to be warm. Gentle. Safe.

But Nyota’s hand had twitched away, like it had been burned. And she’d suddenly swayed, toward the counter, faint. Her hands went to catch her head and steady herself against the counter, as Spock used his own to keep her upright. She’d twitched away from him.

He let her. “What’s wrong?”

She had been silent. Silent of words, silent of thought. An iron curtain, barricade, cage, encompassing. Even through it, though, Spock felt her mind spiking up and down, little shocks of pain. A migraine.

But it’s not a migraine. “I’m just. A little dizzy.”

“More water, please.” He doesn’t touch her. He’s afraid to.

Soon enough, she’s drinking water, and Gaila is on her other side, has brought over fries which she’s also having Nyota eat, and Nyota looks less faint. Looks okay again.

She goes back to dancing, after telling Spock too many times, “It’s okay, I’m fine, don’t worry.” because Spock can’t stop asking “How do you feel?”

She hates that question almost as much as he does.

He’d never done that. Never gone inside her head. Tonight, he’d forgotten why, he’d forgotten to be careful.

Spock is desperate to reach out again, scan her mind, see if she’s really okay, see what he did, fix it. But she’s in the middle of the moving bodies now, and Spock thinks, drunk like this, he’ll probably just hurt her more. If he were to try.

That was an hour ago. He should never have tried to touch her, see her like that. It was a mistake.

Bad.

 

________________________________________________

 

Spock has drifted from the barstool to a window near a back corner. Glass tiles in square formation seal it, blurred so that the street and building lights outside appear as only shapeless colors.

A black cat is leisurely padding along the large windowsill, unperturbed by the hoards in the building because it’s little area back here is barren, empty of anyone with the exception of Spock, and the bartender when they occasionally dart over to grab an extra case of seldom requested liquor brands from the stacks stretching out along the back wall to where this cat and the employee entrance are.

He’s out of Romulan ale. The bottle’s been empty, and when he asked the bartender, there was no more.

And nothing else would really get him drunk. Scotch is nice, though. But he doesn’t want to feel nice. He wants to not feel at all.

Seeing the cat makes him feel warm. It reminds him of I-Chaya. He doesn’t want that right now, and yet he can’t think of anything else he’d like to do except for go over, closer, to the animal, until he’s leaning against the windowsill. Then he reaches his hand out and it comes to sniff him, and he can’t help but pet it. That’s what it wants. It’s radiating this adamant, loud, red desire for company, but not dangerous company like the people haphazardly moving on the dancefloor.

The cat thinks those people would step on them. The cat thinks Spock will hold them. So, Spock does.

Suddenly Spock is crouching on the ground against the wall, with this cat in his arms, purring and it’s louder in Spock’s ears then all the blaring music, drowning the rest out. The cat is radiating warmth, like the comfort of being in bed underneath the blankets at ten in the morning and knowing you don’t have to get up.

It’s a lot better then being here, being present. Remembering what’s going on.

 

________________________________________________

 

“What’s a Romulan doing here, this time of night?” Spock is leaning against the wall, standing again, the cat is mulling around on the windowsill next to him, letting him pet them when it wanders close enough. Spock likes it’s yellow eyes. They seem honest.

Spock hears footsteps come closer, still outside of his line of vision though. Not that, it’s very wide, Spock isn’t really letting anything draw his attention away from the cat and it’s little feet as it wanders.

Finally, the person who spoke draws close enough for Spock to see him, less than two feet away, as he leans against the windowsill and joins Spock in watching the cat. “Well?”

Spock does not let this human detract from his observations, he continues comforting the cat with calming waves, to distract the animal from the stressful torrent of the inhibited masses nearby. “Well what?”

“Well, are you going to tell me why a Romulan is here, of all places? It’s pretty strange.”

“I am not a Romulan.” The cat is observing Spock back now, sitting on the other side of the sill, staring. Unbothered.

Spock wishes for a moment, that he were that cat. “Then why is there an empty bottle of Romulan ale at your feet? If you were human, big guy, I’m pretty sure you’d be passed out or dead, after drinking all that.”

“I didn’t drink all of it.”

“It’s empty.”

“I meant that I did not drink all of it myself, obviously. I drank what was left. Obviously.” Spock catches his eyes drifting over to this invasive human, catching bright eyes catching him, then he darts his eyes back to the cat. Spock knows he’s scowling, just a little, but he can’t seem to reign it in right now.

“Ok, stranger. What about the pointy ears then? That’s pretty Romulan, if you ask -”

“Or Vulcan. Which is what I am.” Spock is glaring, just slightly, at the blurred window panes, and it’s frustrating. This human not taking the hint, not disliking his monotone like most humans do, is frustrating. Everything in existence is frustrating, right now. “Considering Romulans are often considered enemies of the Federation, it is much less logical to assume that I were one, considering how difficult it would have been for a Romulan to arrive on Earth, only for them to expend all that effort just to patronage a bar.”  

Spock lets out a long breath, lets himself look over to the man again, deadpans, “Surely it is the smarter guess to assume I am a Vulcan, a species which is a member of the Federation, as one of its founders, and therefore would easily and more likely be in this bar at this moment.”

“Huh.” Again, the human is not put off by Spock’s current cadence, and, actually, he’s smiling? Why is he smiling? Why? “Fair enough.” The man says, then takes a sip of the bottle he’d had in his hand this whole time.

Spock is, momentarily, surprised this man is so clear eyed, standing so upright, obviously still fairly in control of his faculties… then Spock remembers, he’s been irresponsible tonight. He’s fucked right now. Of course, even the humans are going to be more composed, more aware looking, right now, than him. For all Spock knows, he’s been looking glazed-eyed into this corner for hours.

This man, he is still smiling. Like the smile Spock tries to keep himself from doing around Nyota in public. The little one. Is that fondness? Maybe on a human, it’s less? It’s certainly, certainly something. “That just raises an equally compelling question, though. What the hell is a Vulcan doing in a bar?”

That is a fair question. Spock remembers asking himself that the first few times he ever went to one. In fact, right now he’d still like to know. To keep Nyota company? To make his heart ache as he watches what he’s not supposed to have from her in public for a few more months? To try fucking some stranger again, like the first time he ever went to a bar, and get it woefully wrong again? To induce an anxiety attack?

The man seems satisfied to have stumped Spock, and now. Spock has it figured, that little smile means interest.

But of course it does. The guy started talking to him while he was off sulking in a corner.

“Do you find me attractive?”

That catches the human off guard. “What?”

Spock just waits for an answer, and as he’s moving his head to try and get the cat’s attention, the man goes, “Obviously.”

Spock is right, satisfied to be right, that the world is logical again. Mentally projects to the cat that it is good, adored.

The cat purrs from on it’s perch at the other end of the windowsill. “Are you here for the same reason most everybody else is, then?” The man asks, regarding the cat, giving Spock space, whether the man realizes it or not.

“Depends. I do not know what reason you presume others are gathered here for.” That is a lie, Spock could reach out and take all the answers from this human’s mind, wouldn’t even have to touch him to know. This man is already so open, vulnerable, Spock can feel arousal from here now that he’s looking for it, and he doesn’t even have to try.

Spock turns now, to appraise this person.

Short hair - just long enough to pull, bright eyes - aware enough to give consent, bitable neck - a personal preference of Spock’s. Around Spock’s own height, different than Nyota. The hint of strong legs, enough to be handled roughly, maybe still be able to hold on. Nice hands…

Spock glances over at the crowd of people, tries to spot Nyota. She is still with that woman dressed in red, and another woman now too, who is in black just like Spock, who is kissing Nyota’s neck.

He feels heat crawl up his spine, like some virus, looks back to the man presented to him. “Why are you here, tonight?”

The man answers easily, takes being appraised with unflinching eyes rather well, he doesn’t even look away - even Nogura looks away, when Spock stares this much. “To have fun.” He’s smiling again, then just a little bit more, bright teeth now too, then somehow he’s a little closer to Spock. 

Close enough Spock can imagine he feels the heat of his body, that Spock can feel this man giving off some projection of confidence, mostly though, a desire to learn. To know. To discover. It’s almost infectious.

It reminds Spock of how he feels when he’s in space. “To have some company.”

Spock finds that interesting. He doesn’t sense loneliness, but maybe this man is hiding that particular feeling. And considering how warped his senses are right now, Spock doesn’t think he’s getting a very good read on much anyway. “Company.”

He doesn’t want to think about Nyota over there, just agreeing to the plan, just being appreciated by people who aren’t him, just being untouchable, unreadable, alone always in her mind, where he can never reach. Where he might never ever reach.

He wonders if this man will be as willing as the man Spock found the first time he ever went to a bar. Spock hopes so. He’s not in the mood to put on guesses of human variated etiquette. Spock lets himself wrap his arms around the man’s shoulders, lets the man remain close to him.

The human accepts it, is still smiling, soft. “Want to dance?"

“That would be acceptable.”

“My name is Jim, by the way,” the man says, as he maneuvers them, leisurely swaying, closer to the main fray on the dance floor. Spock feels like that cat. He feels like purring. He threads his hands through the man’s tumbleweed colored hair instead, likes how it feels. Wonders if the man will let him tug it around.

“Spock.”  


________________________________________________

 

The music is loud, and thankfully it isn’t karaoke anymore or else Spock’s ears would be too hyper-aware listening for that familiar voice. The man - Jim - smells nice, although the crowded fray has heated him enough so that now, they’re both a little sweaty. And Jim also smells a bit like blood, Spock isn’t sure why.

But there’s definitely a coppery whif.

It doesn’t matter though, because Jim knows how to move his hands to grope and massage and turn on all at once and Spock’s not about to let him go too far or have a reason to stop. Spock’s also rather pleased to find this man doesn’t mind hair pulling, easily goes wherever Spock pulls or pushes or drags him, and soon enough they’re in a more crowded corner, half swaying half pushing into each other, lips on each other, Spock darting off to kiss at that exposed neck when he gets a chance.

He’s still not sure if he’s allowed to bite.

But Jim doesn’t mind his ass being squeezed, or Spock’s hand dipping underneath the hem and underwear and feeling around more intimately in the slightest. Jim has really soft lips. They’ve got a cut on one side, freshly healed over, but Spock likes that it’s rough as it makes contact against him, Spock likes that it’s unfamiliar.

Jim has nice hips too, the bones are sharp and easy to grip, easy to maneuver Jim against the wall, slot between them, press against him. Spock’s kissing Jim’s neck, then his lips again, rutting against the bulge between Jim’s legs, enjoying the harsh clumsy sensation of Jim’s fingers twisted up in his hair, trying to hold on. Spock loves that Jim isn’t strong enough to help decide if it’s his lips or neck getting kissed, that he’s figured it out, because he’s stopped trying to pull Spock back, and now he’s just moaning and leaning into whatever he gets.

Spock’s too out of it to be sure of anything, but the moans make him chase Jim’s lips and try to bite them, suck them between his teeth and feel the man stutter against him, so he thinks maybe, maybe Jim is baiting Spock into what Jim wants.

Jim seems like he knows his way around, around Spock. Or, around other peoples, bodies.

Like he’s done this before.

Spock feels Jim put his hand between them, rub his palm against Spock’s own hardness, and it takes a lot to keep noises of his own from leaking out. Jim takes the instance of Spock’s discomposure to push up and hold him again, hands around Spock’s waist, one against his ass, and spin them gently, then kiss up into the crook between Spock’s neck and shoulder, holding him there.

Spock’s gone.

It’s perfect. Just what he wanted.

To get lost.

He wants more.

A lot more.

He’s surging into Jim before he’s really thought about it, and Jim’s happy to receive him, and they’re kissing again and Jim’s pressing into him back and sucking on Spock’s bottom lip, tasting him, and it's so soft and sharp, and the tugging sensation is driving Spock mad, and he’s got his hands carded through Jim’s hair, gripping, fingers pressing against his skull, and -

Spock lets go, lets his hands fall, lets Jim hold him up - strong in his own right, maneuver Spock against the wall, kiss into him again, slow this time. Spock leaves his hands at Jim’s waist this time.

Spock wants to get lost.

Jim has his thigh rubbing against Spock’s crotch, and it’s good but not near as much as Spock wants, Spock can’t even _have_ as much as he wants, probably not here. Maybe not anywhere.

They take a moment to breathe, and Jim’s bright brave eyes are looking right back at him. Spock’s been trying to block everything out, the bodies, Jim, himself - get lost - but he still senses some reaching wave from Jim, where their chests touch, of concern.

Why? Why concern? Spock tries to figure it out but the eyes staring back at him are the only clue he’s getting, and they’re attached to this gorgeous strange body he wants up against him again, and -

One of Jim’s hands is carding through Spock’s hair, and it’s so _gentle_. It’s too familiar. Uncanny valley, Spock doesn’t know him, doesn’t want to know him, doesn’t want anyone to know him like that.

No one ever should.

Jim leans forward, kisses him slower, a slow kind of burn, an ache spreading through Spock’s nerves that’s part lust and something else, that Spock can’t tell which part starts and ends with himself. Jim’s other hand is by his waist, slides down to slip over the top of Spock’s hand, tries to hold it, Spock yanks his own hands behind him.

Suddenly everything is hyper visualized, too clear, too bright, too high definition, Spock wants to shut his eyes. Jim just moves his hand to rub up and down one of Spock’s arms instead, and it’s worse. It’s infinitely worse.

Concern. Compassion. Spock doesn’t want these.

Tries to put his mental shields up, but they’re a joke. They’ve been past a joke - a danger, a weapon, an exposed radioactive bomb, this whole night. They aren’t protecting anyone, least of all Spock. He hopes they’re keeping his own issues contained, at least. No human needs to have a Vulcan’s exponential version of fucking mess rattling around their brains, not - not again. Not a little, not even a little -

Is Nyota okay? Spock’s eyes are darting around the room, Jim’s gone - ‘ _except his hands, don’t let him touch your hands_ ’ - and Spock’s trying to find her. He can’t.

Then he sees Gaila, she’s by the stage, good. She’s with a small entourage, all likely smitten, and she still looks mostly sober, maybe she stopped drinking a few hours ago. She notices Spock and waves, unbothered.

Nyota is probably okay, then.

Gaila doesn’t even let Nyota get away if there’s a hint of a sniffle, or a cough drop lying around from the hint of a sore throat. Nyota’s somewhere, fine.

Spock thinks he sees a gold dress on the second floor wrap around, sees it cut a path toward a wall. Maybe she just needed a break from the crowd.

He sees that stupid red dress again, and the woman in black, following the same cut path.

Spock looks at Jim again, can’t feel whatever Jim’s feeling and is grateful for this moment of his shields functioning properly, then slams himself against the man. Buries his face into Jim’s neck, lets himself lean there.

Jim’s stroking his back, and when Spock moves to grope Jim again, emotions back in containment, Jim follows suit. He’s, he’s very good with his hands.

He doesn’t try to hold Spock’s hand again, which makes things easy - though Spock’s permanently on edge now, because of it. He doesn’t try to touch underneath Spock’s clothes, either - which is a lot more respectful then Spock is being.

Jim somehow, has moseyed them back over to where people are dancing, and now, somehow, they’re swaying, Spock’s arms around Jim’s shoulders.

It’s nice, but surreal.

Spock wants to kiss again, but Jim’s just a few inches too far away, when he surges forward, and tries.

“You feel like getting out of here?” Jim says. It’s not super loud, definitely not the octave some other people are using, but Spock’s ears catch it.

All he does is frown, grip Jim’s shoulders tighter, get the impulsive urge to bite into the man’s neck again. Real hard.

For some reason, that makes Jim laugh. “With me? We could go somewhere a little quieter. Maybe your place, or mine. If that’s something you want.”

“Private?” Spock asks, wonders when he lost his ability to talk in coherent thoughts. Think in coherent words.

“Yeah, somewhere we can have some privacy.” Jim is smiling that soft particular smile, a smile Spock has worn far too much to be unfamiliar with.

Jim leans forward, kisses against Spock's neck, sweet and short, it makes Spock want more. Want to hold the man against him and make him continue. He barely manages to not do so. “Lets go somewhere I can make you feel good, if that’s something you want.”

“You are making me feel good right now.” Jim laughs again, and the smile gets bigger, softer, and it’s making Spock’s stomach do weird things. Flutter.

“Good,” Jim moves his lips next to Spock’s ear again, kisses the edge of it, and Spock wants to shiver. “I want you, you know.”

Spock does shiver, wonders if it’s because this human isn’t as warm as him, or if he’s coming down with something. He’s faltering and leaning back against Jim’s arms on his back before he notices. “I want you,” Spock repeats, wondrous.  

What’s going to get him fucked, though? His brain is doing cartwheels trying to remember. Manhandle? Ask? Push him to the floor and see how it goes? Spock’s leaning forward to try and capture those lovely roughed up lips again, moans when he doesn’t get it. “Let’s go then, if you want the company.”

“Yes,” Spock’s saying, autopilot gripping Jim’s arm like a vice and pulling them out of the crowd, to the bar. He spares a moment to glance at Jim again, who’s looking content, still energetic, still so so inviting as he leans against the bar Spock’s pushed him into, legs just slightly apart, eyes bright and on him and waiting. Wanting.

Spock feels that. Thinks it’s all himself. It doesn’t matter. Jim.

“Wait here.”

He receives a questioning glance, and for the first time Jim grabs him and holds him _tight_ as he tries to move away - ‘ _don’t leave’ -_ decidedly tight. Ready to be dragged before he’d let go. “I need to inform - the people I came with that I am leaving.” Jim lets go, nods, and he’s leaning on the bar again, all warm welcome for Spock to sink into soon.

Spock makes his way over to Gaila, who promptly starts a conversation before being invited to, “I see you were having some fun, good for you!” She’s leaning against two men who look besotted, and Spock is disgusted by them. They smell like alcohol, and sweat, and her. Her eyebrows crumple into a frown when she sees the way he’s regarding them, then she tries to tug Spock away, remembers Spock hates being touched, and darts off to the side under the assumption he’ll follow.

He does.

“What’s up?” She’s smiling, friendly, again.

“Where’s Nyota?”

Gaila gives him another one of those sympathetic simpering looks and Spock wishes she didn’t exist. “She’s having fun too.” Gaila is giving Spock a moment of silence, like he needs time to gather himself, and he could honestly do without it. “She left maybe a half hour ago, don’t worry, the people she left with are no one a Starfleet recruit couldn’t handle, also they seemed nice, knew the band we sang with. She’ll have fun. She said she’d meet us at our usual spot, for breakfast, ten tomorrow.”

“I see.” Spock wishes she’d stop communicating pity through the overly expressive movements of her face. He’d like to put distance between them as quickly as possible. “Will you -”

“I’m gonna stay at a - friend’s place -” Gaila nods her head at the supposed friend, “You can have our hotel room!” She’s all jovial, again. Spock doesn’t understand why humans fawn over Gaila so thoroughly, he doesn’t see what could possibly be so appealing, at all.

Spock just nods, waves to signify goodbye at her when she furiously waves at his retreating form.   


________________________________________________  


Jim seems pleased to have Spock wrapped around him, as they walk out into the cool night air. Spock finds the actual appearance of the streetlights to be fascinating, and interesting comparison to the blurry glimpses Spock observed within the bar. When he finally reroutes his attention back onto Jim, he finds the human is staring at him, wide smile stretching the cheeks. Cheeks which turn pinkish red once Jim realizes he’s been caught.

Spock looks back at the street, to spare him.

They get to the hotel, in a cab, because Jim tries leading them to ‘his bike’ first, but Spock won’t stop insisting - stating in an increasingly loud pitch - that “It is not wise to drive when one has inebrad-inebr-drink- had alcohol! We can take a cab, a cab” and dragging Jim with a level of strength that’s hard to resist unless one is willing to physically attempt to take Spock on in combat.

Which, Jim seemed too smitten, to attempt to do.

In the cab, Spock attempts to sit on his side of the back seat. It’s the safe thing to do.

But Jim seems intensely eager to be in ‘private’, finally. Even though there is still obviously someone guiding this vehicle, and leans over to kiss Spock’s cheek - then his neck, and his ear, as soon as Spock’s realized what an affectionate gesture has been acted upon him - then Jim’s scooting himself over until he’s half in Spock’s lap, facing him, and he’s kissing against Spock’s neck, biting it, sucking, and Spock’s gone again. Grasping Jim’s hair like tethers, letting himself get lost in it, forgetting anyone besides Jim can hear him moan right now.  


________________________________________________  


They barely make it to the room, once they reach the hotel, because Jim can’t seem to let go of him. Suddenly desperate, attached, present. It’s a presence in the air between them, Jim’s leaking electric current and Spock doesn’t know if he’s supposed to connect their wires, pick it up, but Jim’s lips keep surging to meet him, hands keep trying to fuse against him, and Spock thinks it would be hard for anyone to know the answer.

But they do, make it to the room. Because as much as this feels good, this getting lost, they can’t really do it in the hallway.

A little too much to worry about, all the potentials interrupting them, for them to actually forget who they are and what else matters.

Captain Pike is always telling Spock not to worry. Spock never worries, worrying is an emotion.

Spock never feels anything.

He’d be better off, if that were true. Probably.

Jim is against his front, and the door is behind him, and he manages to slide the keycard without looking, then they fall into the newly open doorway, and it shuts behind them.   


________________________________________________  


Once they’re inside, Jim’s clumsily maneuvering Spock until his back’s against a wall, then Jim’s sinking right down to his knees.

His hands are on Spock’s hips, and he’s just a human, he’s not that strong - he’ll never be - but Spock still feels trapped. Pinned.

He looks down and that beautiful mouth is moving forward and sliding over the bulge in Spock’s pants and suddenly he wants to rip his clothing off, more than anything.

When he tries to move his hands down, to push his trousers down, or off, Jim’s hands dance dangerously close, try to clasp them, trap them too, and Spock can’t help thrashing them above his head instead. Away, safe.

Good. He’ll be good.

He can feel Jim pushing his shirt up, tonging the skin underneath, near his bellybutton, down his navel, poking at the hair there, still above Spock’s waistband. It’s infuriating. He finds he can’t help throwing one of his hands into Jim’s hair, yanking. It makes Jim moan.

Good. Louder.

Spock drags the man up, pulls him in, shoves his tongue inside, nips, shoves them around until Jim’s trapped against the wall instead. Rips off the man’s jacket, yanks at his t-shirt and hopes it rips, even though it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.

Jim’s smiling, bright eyes watching Spock undress him, holding onto Spock’s shoulders when he gets the chance again. “You’re strong,” Jim comments.

Spock leans forward, kisses his neck. “May I bite you?”

“You can do whatever you want babe.”

“Spock.”

“Spock,” Jim corrects - good boy - throws his head back when Spock does bite, moans loud, and Spock hopes the neighbors hear. Even though it doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant.

Spock rips down Jim’s pant zipper, fumbles around until he gets ahold of that cock, squeezes, bites Jim’s neck again, and the moaning Jim’s doing now is even louder.

Excellent.

Jim’s fingers are dancing along his back, scratching, grasping, then one comes up to where Spock’s holding him, and Spock backs off again, minuscule annoyance. “Please do not hold my hand.”

Jim is panting, finally catching a break to calm down a bit, “Oh. Uh, sorry.”

There it is again. This fleeting spark of fear - abandonment. Spock finds himself staring, and Jim’s eyes look very vulnerable, for a moment.

Then Jim smiles, and it’s an unknown. Spock never smiles like that, neither does Nyota, or anyone else Spock knows. Except - maybe - Jim’s surging towards him again, kissing again, pushing Spock’s pants down and laughing a tiny bit as Spock trips backwards, looking giddy when Spock lands softly on the bed.

Which is a welcome surprise, as Spock had assumed he’d miss. Before he can berate, Jim is in his lap, on his lap, only thing between their crotches underwear, and Spock’s consumed with the desire to remove their clothing again.

Jim is so. Cute.

It’s infuriatingly distracting Spock from the initial goal of losing all ability to think and feel.

Also, Spock is maybe sobering up, somewhat. He doesn’t think he drank enough to vomit, but he’s starting to feel needlessly sleepy. Even though all his dick wants to do is shove into something hot and warm and stay awake until he’s come a few times.

Jim is gently rocking on top of Spock’s hips, lap, while he’s pressing Spock down into the mattress with his forearms, smiling, and it’s slow and meticulous and good. Really good. Infuriatingly so.

And the lights are on bright, default setting, and all Spock can see in his immediate vision is that glorious display of joy as this man rubs off on top of him, grinning, eyes dancing as he watches Spock.

Spock wants to moan, or increase the tempo, or finally get out of these pants! Or anything! But he’s so drowsy now, and the bed is so soft somehow, and Jim is so soft and warm on top of him, and the friction is good, not enough, but good.

And Jim leans down, finally, finally, and kisses him, languid, and Spock can feel everything. Good. It’s so fucking good, all this, just this, he wants to press his fingers against Jim’s face and take more of it.

He just folds his arms and puts them behind his head, the only logical choice. Jim seems amused by it, kisses Spock’s forearms appreciatively, then finally, finally, pushes the last of Spock and his clothes off. He doesn’t crawl back up though, and Spock finds himself moaning at the distance, bucking his hips up, trying to grab Jim with his legs and pull him back up.

But instead Jim slides between Spock’s legs, starts kissing his navel again, sucking hickies into the tops of his inner thighs. It’s perfect, it’s -

Spock’s hands are on Jim’s shoulders, trying to push him closer, push him down. Jim glances up, kisses the base of Spock’s cock, much too gently, asks nicely. “Can I?”

Spock tries to thrust into those lips mid-word, but it doesn’t work cause of course it doesn’t, and then he hears Jim giggle, and then he tries thrusting again, “Yes.”

He has to wait for the giggles to stop, and then Jim grips him in one hand to keep him from bucking haphazardly again, and engulfs him.

It’s minutes, who knows how many, later. Jim’s in his lap, Spock is leaning against the headboard, hard again. Moving Jim so he’s sitting just right, and Jim’s helping, sucking on Spock’s fingers before Spock brings them down behind Jim, pressing in.

Jim doesn’t like how slow it’s going, sucks on his own fingers and gets them wet, tries to add his own. Spock reminds himself to commit this all to memory, lets Jim keep fucking himself on his own rough fingers for a few dozen seconds, then pulls his hand out. Kisses down his neck, biting again, he wants Jim to commit this to memory too. “Please, I’m ready now, please.”

And Spock didn’t need the confirmation to know that, but it’s nice anyway, and he rearranges Jim until he’s in a better angle, thrusts up and doesn’t expect Jim to buck down so suddenly, and then they’re just.

He’s so fucking warm, tight, good. He’s not scared at all, he’s fucking himself down and he’s fucking perfect. Spock could just sit here and watch, let him do it all, fucking get off watching how fucking unconcerned Jim is, with what’s proper or obscene, he’s just bouncing up and down and pulling Spock’s face closer to his so he can suck on Spock’s lower lip.

Spock can’t help moving forward, getting Jim onto his back, fucking in earnest, he wants Jim to bruise remembering this. He’s so beautiful, wrapping his legs around Spock, trying to hold on even when he gets tired, even when Spock’s holding on enough for the both of him.

He’s panting Spock’s name, and it’s gorgeous.

It’s beautiful, coming out of those lips.

He’s thrusting into Jim, throwing him against the bed, so hard, the neighbors surely hear. The wall’s got holes from the headboard, good. Jim’s begging, begging for something. “More, please, please. God, please Spock. Ngh, Spock.” And Spock doesn’t get it, loves hearing it anyway, fucks harder, finally reaches down, grabs Jim’s cock, slides his hand up and down.

Jim is so slippery. Covered in sweat, in precome where Spock holds him and rubs. Jim’s moaning his name again, “Good, ah, Spock, Spock.” Spock never wants it to stop, can’t hear anything else.

Can’t feel anything else. Just Jim underneath him, around him, in his hand, holding his face, desperate to get ever closer.

All there is, is this.

 

It takes Spock a while to recover from that. He doesn’t check how late it is, he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to remember how good he usually is at keeping time. Jim’s - cuddled up might be the right term - on top of him again, slippery, his come drying on Spock’s stomach, but it doesn’t really matter. Spock drags Jim’s face up as gently as he can, kisses him, tastes.

Tries to make a note, that this is what Jim is. In case he ever wants to know again. It’s nice. Warm.

Jim seems to think so too, his half lidded eyes seem to be pleased with what they look back at.

Spock doesn’t realize he’s smiling, until Jim smiles back, cheeks flushing just a little, even though he’s done panting, done catching his breath.

Jim asks, “Do you like being fucked too?”

Spock wonders if other humans think that question is vulgar. It doesn’t seem so, the way Jim says it. Just like how he asked Spock if he was a Romulan. Matter of fact.

Spock shrugs. Jim makes a humming noise.

Soon enough, Jim is rolling Spock gently onto his stomach, and Spock feels kisses going down his back, then hands trailing across it, rubbing the tension from his muscles. And wow, that’s nice. Eventually Jim’s so low, Spock can feel him there again, between his legs, a spot Jim seems to like, and Jim’s just stroking, touching. Exploring. He presses a spot Spock never touches himself, and it feels surprisingly nice. Good. Spock wants to know what it was.

“Thank you,” Spock hears behind him, pressed into his skin in between kisses. It’s unexpected. Spock doesn’t understand.

Jim crawls up, sucks against the back of Spock’s neck, it makes his nerves light up, he wants Jim’s hands all over him again. Jim everywhere. “Can I?”

“Can you what?” Spock tries to see Jim, but the angle’s wrong.

All he gets is silence. Then Jim’s hand is on his ass.

Jim’s other hand is snaking between Spock and the bed, and suddenly Spock is being moved to lie on his side, Jim behind him, cock in Jim’s hand. Jim’s skin is so much colder than when Spock does this for himself.

Jim tongues along the point of Spock’s ear, and it makes him twitch, it’s so unexpected, then Jim is pumping his fist up and down Spock’s cock, mouth by Spock’s ear. “You’re so beautiful. I love how green it gets, so fucking hot.” Spock doesn’t understand if Jim is referring to temperature or aesthetic appeal. When Jim flicks around the head of it, Spock finds he no longer feels the need to know. He’s leaning back into Jim, can’t control himself, noises coming out, and Jim’s kissing by his jaw, “Yeah, that’s good, so pretty. You sound so gorgeous.”

Spock doesn’t understand, how Jim can talk like that, so loud, sure. Not gentle, but. It’s good. Spock wants more, leans back until he can feel Jim’s whole torso against his back.

“I wanna finger you, is that okay, Spock?” Jim’s saying against his ear, his other hand stroking along Spock’s side, consoling.

“Yes, yes.” Spock can’t open his eyes, they’re too heavy, everything’s too much. He’s trying to capture Jim’s lips, slow him down, give it back. He barely manages to, then gets a touch, a taste, after a minute, while Jim’s slipping a wetted finger inside of him, and it’s surreal.

So, so intimate. Spock has never done this before, had this done.

He gasps. Jim feathers kisses across his shoulder in response, “Spock, you’re so good, you’re doing so good,” he whispers, his free hand smoothing over Spock’s stomach, soothing, then coming back down to grip Spock’s cock tighter. And it’s brutal, it’s too much too hard too fast and everything is tingling and Spock can’t catch a break. And squirming isn’t an option because then he’s rocking against everything Jim’s doing, and it’s all too overwhelming and, and - “Say my name, Spock,” Jim’s saying, another finger joining the first, and it feels way bigger then it must actually be, and he’s curling those fingers and suddenly that nice spot is surging like a live wire and Spock is gasping again. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”

“Jim!” Spock can’t think. Can’t do anything but feel, just this, just Jim attacking from both sides, all harsh rubbing on sensitive flesh, fast thrusting and sliding and it’s perfect. Nothing but this, nothing, everything else is fallen away. “Jim, Jim,” Spock feels like he’s crying, weeping, and he doesn’t even know, can’t even tell, and it’s okay.

“It’s okay,” Jim says, kissing his jaw, nuzzling his neck, “You’re so good, so good, Spock.”  


________________________________________________

 

Spock wakes up at eight. It’s the first time he’s seen the clock on the side table since he entered the hotel last night.

The man - Jim, is laying against him, holding him. They’re under the covers, and Spock is warm.

He gets up to change, and pack up the things Gaila and Uhura may have left behind. They’re going back to San Francisco after breakfast.

Jim pushes himself up, rubs his eyes, and regards Spock curiously as Spock is tugging on a muted purple sweater for today’s dreary forecast. “Need to be somewhere?”

When Spock looks over, Jim doesn’t look mad, which Spock supposes he might have expected in the one night stand experience - or maybe it’s just leaving a lover the next morning in general, Gaila said he was spoiled rotten for never getting flack for promptly moving onto other things. “I am meeting the people I came with at ten for breakfast.” Belatedly, Spock realizes it might be considered rude, to a human, to mention breakfast without inviting them.

“Ah,” Jim simply acknowledges, surveying the damage to the room, notably the holes in the wall by his head, and chuckles. “Ten huh? Don’t you think, maybe you should shower first?”

Spock glances down at himself, considering. He does smell like sex. And Romulan ale. And Jim.

Jim gets up, and Spock doesn’t realize he’s staring at Jim’s naked form until the man is right in front of him, tilting his head up with a gentle touch, to redirect those eyes to his face. “I’m gonna take one. Wanna join me?”

Spock must look dubious.

Jim fingers the bottom of Spock’s sweater, and it’s the secret smile - the one Spock can’t place ever seeing on someone before. His cold hands on Spock’s abdomen feel nice. “We can do two things at once you know.” He meets Spock’s eyes, leans forward and kisses him, just long enough to suck on Spock’s lower lip, make him want a little more. Then he’s lightly tugging, hand on Spock’s wrist, on top of Spock’s sweater sleeve, and Spock finds himself following Jim to the bathroom.

While they’re in the shower, Jim sinks to his knees again, once their hair is washed - how perfunctory of him, to do the washing first, Spock can respect that - and he’s swallowing Spock down before Spock can finish trying to shave, and he promptly gives the fuck up, in favor of reaching down to hold Jim’s head and shoulder for support.

He doesn’t let Spock finish, come down his throat, instead he’s pulling off, standing up, dragging Spock closer to him until he can grab both of their cocks into his fist, and jerks. Spock’s losing it, gripping at the shower wall and Jim’s hair and biting into the soft skin of Jim’s neck and gasping.

He wants to help, “Jim, Jim,” but all he can manage to do is keep himself standing upright, “Jim,” he tries to kiss Jim, express his gratitude, express whatever this feeling is, overcoming him, but he can barely manage more than messy desperate presses, as Jim’s moaning back, barely there either. Then, they’re gone.

 

Eventually, they’re getting dressed again, “I have to leave in the next several minutes, you however may stay longer if you wish. This room is checked out until midday.”

Jim smiles, soft, pulls on his own t-shirt, all that’s left is his coat and boots, now. “Thanks, but I’ve got places to be too.” He’s sitting down, tugging the shoes on, tightening the laces.

Spock nods at him, adjusting his scarf and straightening out the folds on his coat.

Jim is at the door before him. “Hey, give me your comm.” Spock is perplexed. “If you ever want, uh, company again.”

Spock is unsure what human protocol is for this sort of situation.

Jim seems to realize this, and Spock wonders what expression he must be revealing to have done so, because Jim walks back over to him, soft fond kind of quirk to his lips that Spock knows. “I had fun, is what I’m trying to say. This was nice. If -”

“Ah.” Spock stands up straighter, “I did not mean to mislead you, but I am not looking for a committed relationship at this -”

“No, no, that’s not. Not what I was trying to say,” Jim looks halfway between laughing and wincing. It’s peculiar. But it smooths out into a smile anyway. “I just meant, if you ever feel like doing something like this, it’s nice to know someone who knows what. What you like. If you call, I can’t guarantee I’ll be up for anything, or even be - I just mean. Maybe if you’re lonel - you want company some time, maybe I will too… no strings attached, you know? It’s worth being able to call, anyway.”

Spock nods, though he doesn’t think he’ll ever call. This is not a thing he makes a habit of doing.

“Or, if you just want a fun time, in general. Sometimes it’s nice to know someone at the bar.” Jim’s smile is genuine, and Spock does appreciate that. It’s, the way Jim is looking at him, it’s warm.

Spock hands him his comm, “Sometimes.” As Jim enters his number, Spock knows it’s unlikely he will ever contact it. He does not offer Jim his own contact information.

Jim doesn’t mind. Smiles at him one last time, heads out.

As if it were -

Spock resists the impulse to peak out the window and watch him leave the building. Instead he picks up a case with Gaila’s extra makeup in it, the extra pillows they brought, and his own small bag, then leaves too.

 

 


	2. What did I do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout of Spock having met Jim, along with Spock just having quite a week of less than ideal luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on Spock being born in 2230, and the events of the 2009 movie taking place in 2258. AOS Spock is roughly 28 during the events of the first movie.
> 
> A good alternate title for this story could’ve been ‘Spock’s Week of Very Bad Luck.’
> 
> The book mentioned is Understanding Physics by Isaac Asimov and it’s a good read if you’re into science. I have it and love it. The other book mentioned is a very weird remedy book that one should never actually follow with blind faith that I found at an old bookstore once, I don’t remember the name of the book unfortunately. 
> 
> Really light reference to Star Trek TOS “Where No Man Has Gone Before” and "This Side of Paradise."
> 
> Do not take any of my science writing as fact, please. But if you are curious about any of the contained musings about the universe though, this Harvard link has a lot of cool information: https://www.cfa.harvard.edu/seuforum/faq.htm#s1
> 
> I apologize if Michael's mention is out of character, I wrote most of this story before Discovery existed, and haven't gotten to watch all of the episodes yet. I also want to warn that this chapter was 41 pages in the word document, I didn't expect it to be that long, but that's how long it took to get to the ending, so I hope you're used to the chapter lengths I tend to skew towards. 
> 
> Lastly, if I were going to sum up this story, I would say it's an exploration of problems people experience in their personal relationships.

Parting ways is awkward.

Nyota and Gaila had been privately discussing something before they’d joined him at the diner for breakfast, and then when they’d arrived on campus, and walked ahead of Spock. Not enough words, not loud enough, that Spock could tell what it was about. It sounded angry. Nyota sounded upset.

But not upset enough to tell him, include him. He still walked them back to their dorm.

Even though, probably, this would be yet another thing he’s-not-supposed-to-do-right-now. Be seen with her. Seen at her dorm. Seen kissing her goodbye.

But he’s still going to kiss her goodbye. On the lips, because he hasn’t touched her hand, or her bare skin, since last night, and the distance seems to be helping her.

Maybe just helping to ensure whatever physical symptoms she experienced last night do not re-emerge.

Maybe, helping her to handle this new reality. She doesn’t like it anymore then him.

Nyota is staring at him, as he’s wishing her a good day, and she’s still inches away, they’re done kissing - a short sweet press - but she isn’t ready for this to end. Neither is he, not really.

 

\----------------------------------

 

It’s Earth, so of course it’s cold outside. It’s foggy, and close to frosty, and Spock’s ears are cold. Everything is cold. So, of course he’s still wearing the sweater mother knit him and sent him during the last holiday. Of course he’s wearing the black hat he found at the store for hardly anything last week.

It’s only logical he’s wrapped one of Nyota’s larger scarfs around his neck and shoulders, tucked the rest inside his black coat. No one is going to recognize it. Lots of humans have scarves like this one.

He’d stopped to get himself some coffee, before heading back to his own apartment to get his things for the computer testing later, to see if anyone’s left any messages at his office - he hasn’t called in to check yet. No one needed to know where he was this weekend.

Captain Pike gave him the weekend off. Actually, tried to give him the whole weekend off, said “You need rest, you’re pushing yourself too hard, and things really aren’t that urgent until the Enterprise gets finished,” and that had only made Spock work harder, which had made his captain do that strange human action of blowing air out of his mouth slowly and loudly while staring. Then, the captain had discovered Spock’s parents were in town - because mother can’t control herself, ever - and Pike had become even more insistent. About lightening his workload for a while.

Spock got all the way to the mailbox of his apartment before something new decided to complicate his Monday morning. And he’d irrationally hoped nothing would come up until he’d seen his orders from Pike for the week.

A Vulcan was standing by the buzzer to be let into the building, ramrod straight and motionless, staring up at the window Spock knew to be his.

Spock wondered, if he walked away slowly, just went somewhere else, if the Vulcan might not ever know.

Instead, he sipped at his coffee some more, observing, and pulled his mail out to peruse through it absently. Nothing important - just a card from mother, arrived far too late, informing him of her - his parents - visit this week. Also, a thank you letter from the VSA, along with a printed copy of his most recently submitted article to one of their publications.

The Vulcan by the entrance glanced around, finally, at the sound of papers rustling, finally aware that there was someone else in the vicinity. They locked eyes with Spock - and how unfortunate, that this person knew who he was, even with his ears all bundled up and hidden - and Spock decided to walk over and pretend this was just another day. No special reaction necessary.

No matter what, he wasn’t letting this man up into his apartment.

He got to the door, to unlock it for himself, before the Vulcan finally spoke up. “S'chn T'gai Spock, of the House of Sarek?”

Spock had the distinct urge to sigh.

Spock looked over at him again, sure that if he didn’t some implication would be made that he was expressing some distasteful emotion, like disdain. “I am. Who may I ask are you?” If Spock had to guess, he’d blame his father for sending some Embassy aid to either come intimidate him, or else this is his mother’s horribly misguided attempt to convince him he should come to the dinner tonight. Either way, telling the man to fuck off isn’t exactly an appropriate Vulcan response.

How unfortunate. It’d be the most direct one.

It would certainly get the point across, that they need to give up. “I am T’Sau, and I come to you on behalf of Princess T’Rea.” Oh.

Spock decided he was still far too cold, took another gulp of his coffee. He caught himself almost glancing around, suddenly feeling vaguely paranoid for whole new reasons, only to notice the man already doing the very same. “I see.” He most certainly didn’t. “And what does she wish to communicate to me?”

“It is believed that her son has found his way to Earth.” Oh.

Oh no. “She believes he may attempt to reach you, since he considers you to be close to him.”

There it is. That implication. That one that Spock really, really, is too tired to need to handle right now. It doesn’t matter what it takes, it will never be enough. Spock might as well have punched him. It’d play out the same. “Well I certainly do not see him as such.”

The man’s eyebrow raises, infinitesimally, and Spock hates it. But whatever is going on, is of higher priority than whatever this man personally believes, “He escaped Vulcan authorities two weeks ago, this is the newest lead.”

“He may no longer be here, if he ever was.”

“T’Rea believes he will attempt to make contact with you.” Spock doesn’t think that it is very likely. Spock hasn’t seen him in years, not since -

“Who should I contact if that happens?” that’s exactly what the man wants to hear, and he puts his information into Spock’s comm, along with the information for T’Rea’s direct line on Vulcan - which is really, truly, unnecessary. But Spock supposes, all parents have a few traits in common. This must be one of them.

“It is vital that if you should see him, you inform us first. That is T’Rea’s right. She has vouched for him. If he returns, he may undergo kolinahr and be reconsidered for his crimes. Please communicate this to him, if you have the opportunity. The Princess would rather he come back home of his own volition, if possible.”

“But you would like him found, regardless.”

“Yes. Please inform us immediately, if you see him.”

 

\----------------------------------

13 Years Ago:  


Midnight had passed. Spock should, logically, go to sleep at this point. All homework is completed, dinner has been consumed, the lights have been shut off. The bed is warm, and everything is conducible to adequate rest despite the slight unnerving quality of total silence across the estate.

Mother and Father are off planet on the nearest starbase, attending a reception for some newly elected Andorian official. I-Chaya is - has been gone for a while.

It’s still off putting, not hearing him.

Michael is gone now too, light years upon light years away. Studying. Spock understands why she made her decision, but it is still an adjustment, getting used to her being so distant.

Spock finds he cannot sleep, his troublesome mind refuses to quiet itself, refuses to meditate. He has been the top of his class this year, for the last several years, because father told him it is wise to demonstrate to the VSA his abilities, should he wish to submit an application for admittance soon.

Because everyone there, his classmates, this city, thinks he isn’t capable. How irrational of them, baseless. Just because he had one minor infraction, as a child. It’s not as if Stonn hasn’t been compromised by his own variant of emotional outbursts just, if not more, often.

It’s not as if Spock was the only Vulcan child who fell into the lower percentile of emotional and telepathic control during the first few years of life. He caught up. He’s in the average range now, he’s been in the average range since the age of four. That fight in his childhood was a blip, a single misnomer, nothing more.

Spock remembers when Sybok came to live with them, because Sybok’s mother was sick, because she thought it logical he know his father in the case of her growing worse. How inadequate Sybok was, in comparison.

Mother had told him to be forgiving, that Sybok was going through a lot, and anyone would be a bit emotionally compromised if they had to face the prospect of losing their own mother.

Father, incredulously, tolerated such infantesque behavior as well, not even bothering to confront the fact Sybok smiled much too liberally, copied Spock’s own mother’s cadence of speech to the point of mimicking human platitudes of irrationality. A plethora of “How are you”s and “it’s good to see you”s and “I’m delighted that you think so”s all accompanied by these sickeningly unrestrained expressions, that for reasons unknown, his father put up with.

Spock has never acted out so recklessly. Even trying his best, every moment, father still finds something to critique. Even Sybok does, and it is so infuriatingly, infuriatingly hypocritical, coming from him. Coming from both of them, really. Father married mother, after all, and Spock still hasn’t figured out what incredible logic was behind that particular decision.

Sybok is in university, now. A prestigious liberal arts academy, in their diplomatic program. He likely wishes to become more like father, even though such a goal is ultimately a joke. Sybok is so little like father.

But then, Spock silently suspects Sybok would really prefer to become more like mother. He always mimics her, when they’re put together, and after a while Spock decided it truly wasn’t about mocking her - which is what everyone else usually means, when they repeat her mannerisms. As if infinite diversity in infinite combinations were not a founding tenet of Surakian principles…

Sybok invited Spock to a party, earlier this evening. Because he had stopped “home” and thought to mention it, extended the olive branch as mother calls it.

Spock hadn’t accepted the invitation, of course, but he had been civil. It is dark out, and the morning is begun, and Sybok is still not ‘home’ as Spock lies in bed trying to calm his mind enough to drift off.

He might be hurt.

If others barely tolerate Spock, who knows what they think of an ecstatic mess like his half brother?

Impulse nags at him until he gets out of bed and dresses, goes to check the house. Sybok is nowhere. He’s all alone, no messages from mother or father either. The city is dark outside for the most part, like everything else.

He goes out to find Sybok.

Someone so irresponsibly emotional certainly might stumble into trouble, therefore it is only logical to assume Sybok hasn’t returned home because he is likely making a fool of himself, of the House of Sarek, and is unable to correct whatever situation he has gotten himself into.

Spock goes to the location Sybok told him the get together was to be hosted at, and is perplexed.

It is a decrepit metro entrance, the pillars as the stairs go down slightly crumbling with decay, at the edge of the city, in a neighborhood mostly emptied so that future remodeling can repurpose this zone. There are construction vehicles a mile from the location, and a few pockets of apartments still inhabited by Vulcans who see no need to relocate as of yet.

Spock can hear the patter of small lizard feet stumbling underneath, in the tunnel, but nothing else. There must be some mistake.

He goes down into the tunnel anyway. Within it, he finds there is a dim candle light a ways to the left, along with a small smattering of graffiti pictographs. It is strange.

Spock follows it.

Now there is noise, more, distant at the moment but it’s apparent there is a cacophony of voices and music further down the tunnel, where the light increases to whole grouped settings of torchlights, and the graffiti is expansive as is the smoke in the air, incense, all different types, confusing his sense of smell as he tries to parse out what all the particular scents might be.

The bulk of the sound is coming from two closed swing doors, also covered in extensive sprayed on drawings Spock doesn’t understand the function of, and two Vulcans are milling about off to the side of it, leaning against the wall, slouched. Talking quietly, swaying to a beat just a little too far for Spock to make out yet.

The entire thing is rather off putting. Most of all, the sight of Vulcans swaying.

At least, there _is_ a party.

Spock keeps going, past the strange Vulcans and through the doors.

He is barraged with indistinct noise once he is inside. Along with bodies.

So many bodies, all thrashing and swaying, and pressing up against him, touching him as he’s pushed in different directions, accidentally even, as he tries to make his way through the mass. The smoke is even thicker in here, weighing down the air, limiting his vision, burning his throat a little. But the touching is the most distressing component of this new development.

He stops caring about politeness, and shoves his way toward the nearest wall. No one seems to care, or notice. Once the crowd thins out a bit, he takes stock of the situation. Notices he is near a table of some unidentifiable substance, from which others keep taking cups of and walking off. Spock takes one of the cups himself, tries to wash out the irritation on his throat.

A few people are staying by the table, like him, sipping, quieter, trying to have conversations with the others congregated here. The music is still deafening - loud percussions and base, typical Vulcan attributes, but so much faster, non-traditional, and mixed in with a plethora of other instruments that Spock recalls humans and Orions tend to favor. It would be hard to talk, in this environment.

But the people nearest him seem to be touching hands, arms, fingers to flushed cheeks, which probably aids in communication. Mostly, it unnerves him.

This is vulgar. This is bizarre.

He starts scanning the room for Sybok’s distinctly long tress of hair, the outfit Spock saw him leave the house in. Spock needs to complete the objective of all this, and leave.

A Vulcan near to him stumbles, the man’s hand touches his neck and shoulder as he tries to right himself, and Spock twitches away.

Fuzzy. Content. Lustful. Worried. Spock didn’t want or need to know those things. When the man tries to make eye contact, maybe to rightfully apologize, Spock slips away, to another area by the table, putting more living obstacles between them.

This is taking too long, there are too many frantic bodies, the smoke is too thick, the colored lighting that flashes in and out too dim and inconsistent. He turns to the pair nearest to him. “Do either of you know if Sybok, son of Sarek, is here?”

Even just saying it, is decimating. No self respecting Vulcan would be here, should be here. Sarek’s name shouldn’t even be the barest of associated with this place. It is an atrocity.

Besides, it’s unlikely Sybok gave his real name, why would he? Why would anyone admit who they were, if they were here? “Sybok?” The shorter woman repeats, her eyes slightly glazed over, but obviously paying attention. She glances to her companion, who tilts their head slightly.

“Who’s asking?” the other slurs, quiet, sharp set to their gaze.

“I am his brother, Spock.”

Whatever show of intimidation they’d been planning, falls right away. They’re both slouching, even suddenly leaning closer, as if he’d been admitted into friendship with the pair. One even smiles. Smiles! “Sybok is over by the stage!” The more restrained - if it could even be called that - one shouts, over the press of noise. “He’ll be glad to know you’re okay!”

The other one, still smiling, and it’s disturbing, is pushing their cheeks wide, crinkling their eyes, unrepressed. “Nice to meet you, Spock! He says so much about you!”

“So proud of you!” The first adds, as Spock is pushing back into the crowd, to make his way through it.

Sybok doesn’t even have the nerve to look ashamed, when Spock finally carves a path, stands before him.

Instead, the traitor wraps his arms around Spock, and it’s infuriating, and it takes all the willpower Spock possesses to refrain from shoving his - brother - across the open stage behind them.

He knows though, if he does that, Sybok will call him human. Even though Sybok is the one, right here, in this awful messed up place, being stranger and more irredeemable then Spock could ever fucking be.

So he just restrains his glare, as much as his sleepy body can manage, and remains silent and disgusted until Sybok lets him go. The other Vulcans all around them, Spock notices, are quite free with their touching as well. It’s truly horrific, utterly incomprehensible. Nothing about any of this situation makes sense.

Except that Sybok is here, “I’m glad you made it Spock!” because of course, _of course_ Sybok would be here. In a situation like this.

Sybok wraps a repulsive arm around Spock’s shoulders, and starts leading him back over to that table and it’s more open space, apparently at least realizing a crowd squeezing against them as they reunite is not exactly ideal.

“Here,” Sybok says, handing him a water. “I gotta say,” the set of Sybok’s face reveals worry - and Spock’s simmering anger is reignited tenfold, that Sybok even feels he can display so much, without even _thinking_ about the consequences, “I didn’t expect you’d, that you’d come.” Spock hates him, hates him - and can’t seem to stop himself from it - absolutely appalled that Sybok talks like this, like some human but worse, so unthoughtful about his words, so casual with his mistakes. There’s no word to describe the level of wrongness - “I figured, when you didn’t come with me, didn’t show up the first hour, that you’d decide to, well, blow me off. Haha,” Spock could punch him, could just do it, no one here is going to ever mention this party to anyone, not a single damn soul, if they have even an iota of self-respect, “It’s what you usually do.”

And Sybok is smiling, and Spock can’t help it, he’s containing himself as hard as he can. Either way, Sybok’s going to belittle him anyway, isn’t he? Just like everyone. At least Spock knows it can never mean anything worthwhile, not when Sybok is like this, not after all this. “Have you lost your mind?”

Spock is shouting. Over every noise in the room. He’d throttle Sybok, shake him until his brain came back into his head, but that would be illogical, brains don’t work like that. “Why are you here? What is this place? What possessed you to ask me to come here?”

He knows he sounds mad, he’s trying to reign it in, but it isn’t working, doesn’t matter.

Sybok looks distressed, and Spock wants to slap him for wearing his thoughts so childishly in the open, but Spock isn’t done. “No! Don’t touch me.” Spock throws Sybok’s placating hands off of his shoulders, moves farther away. “Don’t!”

“Spock-”

“You should not be here! You realize this place is -”

Sybok is touching his arms again, trying to calm him down, and Spock doesn’t want or need his assistance. “I said don’t touch me!”

“Would you just, let me explain?” his brother says, and Spock is disgusted. But Sybok removes his hands, puts them behind himself, and that is a starting point. Spock crosses his arms, knows he’s glaring, can’t stop himself.

“I just wanted…” Sybok is walking, leads them to a slightly quieter spot, right up against the wall, even past the table. The wall is littered in drawings in bright neon colors. Spock doesn’t get it. “I wanted you to understand.”

“Understand?” Spock can not believe the outcome of the universe, that this man is somehow even remotely related to him.

“Yeah.” Sybok is collapsing against the wall, looks tired - defeated. Good. “Yeah Spock. Look - this - this isn’t whatever you think it is.”

“I think -”

“It’s about letting go, Spock! It’s about letting people feel things, embrace things. Letting go of all the walls we put up, and letting our hearts heal us!”

Spock is tuning out, this is beyond insane, and Sybok is getting riled up when he notices Spock isn’t listening to this again. He’s fed up, way past fed up, this tune got beaten to death years ago, back when Sybok first started on his bullshit.

Spock thought Sybok had gotten better. Well, not better but, had reigned it in. Gotten ahold of his emotions enough to function like a person instead of someone suffering from potential grief - which was mother’s initial excuse for Sybok’s peculiar choices. Sybok is in higher education now, training to be a diplomat, a leader, a shining example of Vulcan royalty to embody the best of  society.

What the fuck happened. “You’ve been lying to me,” is Spock’s logical conclusion.

Sybok doesn’t like that conclusion very much.

“Hey! Wait,” Sybok is shouting, trying to follow behind him, but Spock is skinnier and angrier and pushing his way across the room faster, outside in the hallway before Sybok can catch up.

It’s so much brighter, outside of the main room. Spock finds himself panting, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s about to cry or if it’s because suddenly the air seems more breathable again.  

He starts walking down the hall until he hits a bend, then turns toward the wall. He can’t catch his breath. His face feels wet.

He hears footsteps, snaps his head up, and his nerves freeze up then relax when he realizes it’s not Sybok. Just some strangers, walking slightly swayed like everyone else seems to be. Spock turns back toward the wall, then notices the strangers have come up to stand by him.

He’s about to ask them why, but they speak first. “Are you Spock, Sybok’s brother?” The taller one inquires, appraising him, maybe they know Sybok. Mother thinks that Spock and his brother look a lot like father, especially when Spock forgets to straighten his hair. With all the smoke, the humidity, maybe his curls have come back. Maybe he looks just like that monster in the other room.  

“Unfortunately,” Spock chokes out, realizes he’s expressing too much, tries to reel himself in. He notices, his mental shields are hardly there, thin translucent streaks now, permeable. That’s strange.

So is the hand that darts out, from behind him - it must have been the second person. It’s grabbing the space between his neck and shoulder, and suddenly he’s falling to the ground, everything is going dark.

When he wakes up, everything is wrong.

It was wrong before, but now it’s of a higher magnitude, a whole new realm of bad. Everything is still black, but his eyes are open. He can move, but not very far, he’s cramped, squished into a fetal shape, and he can’t understand why he can’t stretch out. There are voices, muffled, and Spock hears them as if underwater. The air is still thick - Spock thinks he is still somewhere near the party, the strange mix of scents is still present. Now, in addition, he smells chloroform.

“More than that…” “...how rare a human-Vulcan is…” “...only one…” “....where is he then, I’m only…” “...get him to….” the voice drifts, and it’s the tall Vulcan’s  - the one Spock was looking at before he lost consciousness. Spock still feels dizzy, that it’s a struggle to be aware, wonders if anything else was done to him.

“...want to see…” says another voice, and then everything is too bright until Spock’s eyes focus, and he is definitely in some nearby place, because the torch lighting is the same type, and the room is still part of an old metro construction, and it turns out he’s in some kind of cage. There is an Orion in the room, and she has far too many weapons on her to have travelled to Vulcan through legal channels. The tall Vulcan is present as well, is holding a thick cloth that must have been over the cage.

The Orion flips open her communicator, expression unreadable, and speaks into it in a language Spock doesn’t know enough words to parse out. Then she nods, “He’ll come down to collect it,” and then she’s fading away, particles transporting. And Spock feels fear.

The other Vulcan, the one who must have knocked him out, enters the room soon after, comes over to talk to the first. Spock begins kicking at the ropes around his limbs, now that he’s noticed them. He fights the legarthy of his body, starts thrashing against the walls holding him in. They seem angry - and how unnerving it is, to see Vulcans visibly angry.

The only thing even marginally close was when he saw his father, after he had broken Stonn’s bones. Father had looked so - cold.

Suddenly the Vulcans are falling forward, face first into the ground, and Sybok is standing there. His hands are on the one who was in charge, fingers tight against the skull, ravaging the open mind there and taking answers with no reservation. Then Sybok is snapping away, yanking a key from the Vulcan’s robes and making quick work of the lock on the cage, pulling Spock out into his arms, and tearing at the ropes. Spock does too, as soon as his hands have enough range, and soon enough he’s free.

He pushes to his feet, and his face is wet, and the room is too hot, and Sybok looks so utterly wrecked, and Spock hates, hates, hates that Sybok cares. His nerves itch, he feels like his chest is going to burst inward, or outward, that indistinct pain distress suggests to your mind to explain why you are upset.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Sybok asks, rising as well. “Are you okay, Spock?”

Spock hates that question. For some reason, he can’t reel himself in. He can’t make all this pain stop, he can’t stop his skin from heating up more and more, he can’t make his hands and arms stop shaking. He’s overwhelmed. He’s beyond past that.

“Spock?” Sybok is reaching out, to touch him again, and Spock thrashes away. They hear footsteps, and suddenly Spock remembers that someone is coming back, ‘to collect him,’ and he jumps.

“We need to leave.” Sybok says, and Spock is already making his way to the exit, pushing through these doors he doesn’t remember being brought through, trying to figure out which way leads out. Sybok passes him and leads, and Spock doesn’t really trust him, not at all right now, but it’s better than no direction at all, and trails behind him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Sybok is saying, quiet mantra, and Spock can’t stand it, but then there’s a loud noise from the room behind him - the Vulcans getting up, and Sybok grabs Spock’s arm and starts running.

Spock yanks out of the grip, but follows after just as quickly anyway.

They’re definitely being chased. “Fuck, fuck,” Sybok is darting a new direction, mumbling something that sounds like “I should have known” and Spock is beyond overcome with the urge to punch him again. The hall leads to a bathroom, with a thick metal door with a knob and a lock, as the echoes of bodies chasing them bounces off the concrete of the halls. Sybok slams the door shut, and Spock’s already trying to yank a sink off of the wall, to try and move it to block the door, hold it shut.

Sybok helps, and together they manage it, position it, then Spock is darting to the other sink, yanking at a pipe that’s jutting out at an angle. He could hit someone with that. He could protect himself with it.

Sybok is pacing in the limited space, eyes darting maybe for vents, glancing at the thick glass of the window near the ceiling. Spock doesn’t know where it leads. But he’s punching the mirrors, trying to make a piece of glass big enough he could stab someone with.  

“Over here,” Sybok is underneath the window, hands held together to serve as a platform, “Get up and try to open that.” Spock hates him so much.

So much. But he climbs up and tries anyway, the pipe in one hand, and a chunk of mirror stabbed into his pocket.

“I’m so sorry,” Sybok is muttering again, and they can hear clanking nearby, out in the hall. It's certain that those people know where they are, the hall ended here, and they didn’t try to be quiet about ripping out the bathroom sink. “Someone must have known, figured out who you were, I should have told you, should have warned you not to tell anyone -”

“Shut up.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned you, Spock I -”

“Hold this,” Spock passes down the pipe, instead of pummeling Sybok over the head with it. Tries clawing at the glass, tries hitting it - his knuckles bleed. “Nevermind,” Spock reached down, tried to grab hold of it again, and once he gets the pipe back up to the windowsill he tries to use it a leverage where the window’s edge is. These panes were probably never meant to be opened.

“Sometimes, the wrong kind of people show up at these events - you can imagine, it’s not exactly like we can screen who comes in, call the authorities -”

“Shut up! I don’t care!” Spock’s managed to chip at a bit of the window pane, tries to pull himself up to teeter on the edge of the windowsill. It’s just big enough he can almost sit on it. Sybok helps push him all the way up. Once Spock’s there, Sybok tries to climb onto the sink that’s still on the wall, closest to the window, and reach for it too, try and help.

Sybok can’t do anything to help.

“I don’t care! I hate you! I hate you!” Spock’s crying, he knows it, he knows the salt on his face isn’t sweat, and it’s horrible.

He starts coughing.

His throat burns.

He can feel Sybok’s hands pushing up on his thighs, trying to keep Spock upright, keep him up on the windowsill, ready to catch him if he slips. “Are you okay, Spock?”

Spock catches his breath, pushes at the window harder, all rage.

He manages to crack the window more, forces the pipe through and pulls it sideways. Some of the glass shatters, falls out when Spock presses against it, but it’s not very wide, and the jagged edges aren’t breaking off.

The door moves forward a bit, there’s shouting in the hall. A loud noise, and suddenly Sybok is shoving Spock at the window, “Can you fit? Can you -” Then Sybok is moving to lean against the broken sink, to press the door back closed.

Spock looks back, and at the sight decides the best course of action is to just force himself through.

He feels sharpness along his hip and thigh, but he fits, and there’s a wide ledge on the outside. It juts out along the steep drop of a canyon.

Spock doesn’t bother making things more difficult by looking down, just scrambles onto the outside portion and moves himself sideways until he’s no longer by the window. Takes a single moment to breath, try to steady the hyperventilating his lungs have fallen into to some degree, then determines which direction is the closest way back to the city.

To the right he can see streetlights in weak morning light, several dozen feet over, and Spock pulls himself to his feet - because he won’t fit moving on the ledge if he crawls, and tries to edge toward that direction. The canyon curves, and not all of it has pieces of the abandoned outer metro complex to grab onto.

Spock is around one bend before he realizes Sybok is trailing behind him, catching up fast.

Once he’s close, close enough to speak quietly, Sybok informs him “I smashed the ledge by the window, they can’t follow us this way.”

“I hate you,” is all Spock can think to say.  

He can barely think.

Spock coughs again, harsh, and it makes his whole body shake. Sybok’s arm is out in front of him, holding him against the rockside. When Spock finally stops, he notices blood on his arms where he’d covered his mouth.

It seems an eternity until they finally get to a junction where Spock can reach up easily enough to pull himself onto flat ground again. Sybok follows, behind him the whole time to make sure he doesn’t slip, and they take stock of wherever they are.

It’s still Sha’Kar, but now they’re close to the financial district, all the offices in their line of vision are closed until business hours begin, later. Sybok lets out a sigh behind him.

Before Spock can take stock of what’s going on, he’s slamming his fists against Sybok’s chest, vision blurred, growling or yelling or making some kind of noise that really just means anger.

Sybok catches him, despite the thrashing, hugs Spock against him, and that only makes Spock shake harder, kick, scream.

“I’m so sorry, Spock,” Sybok is saying, by his ear.

“I don’t care! I don’t care!”

Spock can’t seem to make himself stop.

Then he’s coughing again, and when Sybok pulls away just enough to try and see how Spock’s doing, the hacking gets worse, and Spock falls to his knees, bracing himself against the ground. He can’t breathe, his throat hurts. It hurts so bad. His lungs too. All of it, he can’t stop.

There’s more blood, considerably, when Spock finally manages to start breathing normally again. Sybok’s hand is against his back, rubbing, and Spock jerks away from the touch. It doesn’t deter him though, because Sybok still tries to hold Spock’s elbow as he moves to stand, tries to tug Spock’s arm over his shoulder. Spock thrashes, almost falls over again, stumbles away. He can’t seem to walk straight.

But he knows which way home is, from here, so he proceeds in that direction.

“We need to call your doctors.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

The whole day is a mess. After the unexpected Vulcan guest outside of his apartment, the rest of the day decides to go determinedly similar.

First he goes to his office, dressed in the black work variant of his Starfleet uniform, only to see his mother of all people sitting across from Christopher Pike when he enters his captain’s office to present the day’s updates on how his crew selection for the Enterprise is coming along.

Pike is smiling at her, and Spock would claim if pressed that it was equal parts bewilderment and delight.

His mother, horrifyingly, is wearing a similar expression as she swivels in her chair at the noise of the door opening. “Spock!”

“Spock,” Pike mirrors her, pulling himself more upright in his seat, changing to a more conservative arrangement - likely a subconscious action.

“What a pleasure it is to see you!” Mother is saying, and Spock doesn’t like the look of her eyes, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’ve been promoted to Commander!” She’s already moving to stand up, and Spock’s wondering if there’s any appropriate way to walk out of this situation without these two people considering it to be disrespectful. “Captain Pike was just telling me,” she’s almost reached him, it’s too late to leave now, “how marvelous a job you’ve been doing.” She’s hugging him now. “I’m so proud of you, Spock.”

When she finally pulls away, Pike is watching them politely from his seat behind the desk, unintrusive. “Oh -”

“It is good to see you mother,” Spock intones, once there is a careful distance between them again. “I did not expect to see you here th-”

“Right - I’m sorry -” she’s saying, hands gently thrown out, a gesture she’s fond of, “I forget sometimes that communication time can lag, I should have informed you earlier, but the conference was so last minute - I wasn’t sure if I planned on attending until just a few days ago.”

Spock nods, it is understandable. However, her speaking to his commanding officer without even coming to see him first and ask is a bit - presumptuous. The look on her face says, without a doubt, she knows that.

“The person at the front desk said you might be up here, when I came by, and then I stumbled into this lovely man,” she nods over at Pike, smiling concilatorially. “You talk about him all the time, but you can’t blame me for being a little curious about the integrity of a man who decides every day what kind of danger my son’s going to be sent into.”

Spock can’t wait for this conversation to end.

Mother, at least, knows him well enough to give him that mercy. “Well,” she says, wrapping things up. “It was nice to meet you, Captain Pike,” she holds out her hand after a small delay - only a family member would probably notice - and he shakes her hand. He looks a bit bewildered, still, and Spock wonders what his mother has been saying to him.

“Spock,” she says, already starting to walk out, “I’d love to catch up with you -”

“Perhaps Thursday, I have free time in the afternoon, at the moment I -”

“At the moment he’s got nothing of pressing urgency,” Pike mentions, from behind his desk, and Spock is annoyed but not unsurprised at his audacity. “I’ll see you at the test update meeting later, we can go over everything around then.”

“I - yes, Captain.” So, Spock leaves with his mother.

 

\----------------------------------

 

After the test update meeting, Spock readjusts the delegation of duties to the cadets helping him with the Kobayashi Maru revamp. Cadet Gaila, as always, is diligent and cooperative, and easily readjusts.

However, also as is habit for her, she’s having a difficult time fully separating her working relationship with Spock from her personal one, and stays in the lab longer than anyone else, waiting for them to all file out.

Spock finds he has to repress a sigh, and comes over to her position by the consoles to see what she wants.

All he has to do is raise his eyebrow. “About the other night, I need to tell you something.”

Spock wishes she would have the sense to not discuss the fact they know each other outside of work, on Starfleet property. He crosses his arms and waits.

Thankfully, she comes right out with it. “There might have been a few other people from Starfleet at that bar.”

Fantastic. Phenomenal.

The silence he leaves them in never seems to make Gaila very comfortable.

“I don’t think it's anything to worry about,” she adds, and Spock sees her wince. Thankfully, this whole conversation, she has spoken quietly. And she has stood an appropriately professional distance. And she hasn’t said anything specific. Spock didn’t tell her about the issues he’s been having lately with Nogura, it’s none of her business.

All she knows is, it was a bad idea to date a cadet from the start, and Nyota and him are just trying to be a little bit more appropriate for a while. Until the situation is slightly less extreme. Which, he thinks, she understands.

She certainly understood how scandalous it was when Spock and Nyota started sleeping together. She wouldn’t shut up about it until, as Nyota says, Nyota agreed to Gaila to ‘stop complaining, no matter who it is, about who she brings home’.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yep. I mean, yes.” Gaila stands up straighter, pulls down on the hems of her sleeves. “I think I knew the few that I saw, and none of them even know you - definitely wouldn’t recognize you, of all people, in a place like that.”

She doesn’t mention Nyota.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Spock should not have come. He should not have acquiesced to his mother's pleading to come to this dinner.

Now he is sitting inside an Italian restaurant by the bay, surrounded by Vulcans from the embassy, his mother across from him and his father next to her. Adamantly ignoring his existence.

If Spock could infer to his younger self anything, it would be that any ideas about his father being the pinnacle of logic to hope to aspire to - are grave misconceptions.

Sarek is a hypocrite. And Spock thinks it is a tragedy he didn’t realize it sooner, that he was too blinded by his own emotions to see the reality.

Sarek is acting like he doesn’t exist, and Spock can do the same thing. The other dinner guests are being cordial enough, and in fact Spock suspects they don’t even know why Sarek might disapprove of his son in this context.

Spock is a Starfleet Commander now, and aside from the implication of that role including moments of necessary violence, it’s quite an honorable duty to possess. Mother thinks so. Michael understands, she lives it.

But father?

A hypocrite who can’t see past his own troubled rational.

Eventually, Spock politely dismisses himself from the table - he’s stayed for appetizers, and said a few words to the other guests, and let his mother boast a little, and now he’s done humoring this mockery.

Mother follows him as he makes to leave, catches him in lobby area by the door. “You know, I wish you’d just give him a chance.”

Spock is done having this conversation with her. He was done having it, the first time she ever brought it up, a month after he’d resettled in San Francisco. She still expects him to respond. “I will not encourage his irrationality by acquiescing my point. He is wrong, the choices I have made are not anything other than the most logical, beneficial, decisions for myself. There is no sense in attempting to make amends with a man who refuses to admit when he is wrong.”

“How dare you speak about him that way.” How dare you defend him, Spock doesn’t say. It is human, to side with someone even if they’re broken, because love gets in the way, allows you to excuse it. His mother is better than this, smarter than this, she shouldn’t put up with it.

“It is the truth.” Spock has been told, on occasion, that he has his mother’s eyes. As he stares back at her, both at an impasse, he can see where others get the impression. “I am not going to offer any sort of reparations unless he rectifies himself and admits his failure of logic.”

Mother looks - heartbroken. “You know he can’t do that Spock,” she looks this way a lot, when this subject comes up. Spock wonders if she meets his father’s gaze like this, when father refuses to speak of him - wonders how father can face this and still refuse to see her logic, accept it. “He still loves you, you know.”

Spock is ready to walk away from this.

“If you’d just, just try to meet him halfway, then maybe he’d -”

“What is the point, in leading him to believe he was correct. There is no point.” Spock wants to find a way to leave, but he can’t just abandon her right now.

But Sarek is coming over, now. Which is the last thing Spock would like, in this whole universe, to be happening.

He completely ignores Spock, he doesn’t even exist to the man, and starts heading out of the exit himself. Mother is distraught, darts her gaze from her husband to her son, and shakes her head, resigned.

“Don’t think you’ll get out of seeing me Sunday,” she mutters, going over to the hostess and asking if there’s any way she could pay enough to cover the bill, then she’s headed right out after his father.

She catches up, and grabs his hand. He visibly slows, holds her hand back, then turns a corner.

Spock knows, without ever being informed, that father must have walked out because Spock was going to. He was probably infuriated that his half human son was so affected as to not even be able to sit through a full dinner politely and endure. So infuriated that he had to leave, himself, so as to not be visibly affected around this group of peers.

What a hypocrite.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Spock, of course, storms out a few minutes after them - at a casual, measured pace, so no one could really call it ‘storming’.

And tries hard not to think about the last time his mother said “You’re so much like your father! The both of you are so stubborn, sometimes I don’t know how I tolerate either of you!”

He ends up getting a peppermint coffee, from that place he likes, because it’s good, and warm.

He cuts through a park, on his way back to Starfleet HQ, because sometimes you need to expose yourself to more of nature and less of reality falling in around you and reaching the point of suffocation.

As he’s leaving the park, he notices a group of people congregated near the bridge - one of many groups of people in the park, and a pretty usual occurrence anyways. But he notices one person in particular, who has shoulder length curly hair, and pointy ears.

Before he really thinks about it too hard, he’s marching over to - to what - he isn’t even sure, but that’s just the kind of day this is. He’s finishing up his coffee and getting closer and soon enough he’s sure, that visage in the distance is most certainly his brother.

Once that processes in his brain, he stops walking, decides the best course of action is to leave - go back to work just like he’d planned to. Once he’s back on a road, out of the park, he flips open his comm and tells one of T’Rea’s assistants who he’s seen.

It’s not even a minute after that, he hears “Spock! Spock!”

The irritable noise is growing closer, and Spock’s walking pretty fast, resolutely pretending it doesn’t exist, but soon enough it’s caught up anyways, and there’s a hand on his shoulder -

Then there’s a body being slammed against a nearby wall, Sybok’s, and Spock is staring face to face with him, elbow and forearm holding him in place.

He doesn’t bother asking ‘what?’

 

\----------------------------------

13 Years Ago:  


They finally get inside the door of the house of Sarek, and Spock collapses onto the floor whether he wants to or not. It’s so hard to breath.

He can feel Sybok yanking him up, desperate, trying to help him get air into his lungs. When Spock can finally open his eyes again, there’s blood on the blankets that for some reason he’s holding onto now, and he’s propped up on the couch. Sybok is returning from the kitchen with a glass of water, trying to get Spock to accept the glass. “I called your doctors - Doctor Shavok, and Doctor Jaros. They’ll both be here soon.”

Spock starts coughing blood again.

The doctors, when they get there, work in tandem, silent. It must be five in the morning, something like that. Sybok won’t stop pacing then standing too still for too long in one place, frozen, switching between the two at random, every so often asking “Do you need anything?” to the doctors, to Spock.

Doctor Shavok tells Sybok to contact Spock’s parents, to inform them that he is having an allergic reaction. “To what?” Sybok asks, already putting in their parent’s contact information.

“Did he ingest anything new? Anything he isn’t used to?” Doctor Jaros asks, and Sybok - to his credit - is honest.

“We were at a party, I know he drank water, but he might have consumed something else. There was a drink there, it - is this a reaction to chloroform?”

The Vulcan doctor is perplexed at that statement, but doesn’t act on it. “No, chloroform would not do this to his system. It would only render him unconscious.” Everything on his insides hurts, so much. Spock can barely see again, he’s tired.

His human doctor knows enough about emotional tells to take it upon himself to get to his feet, go over to Sybok. “Do you know what was in the drink?”

Spock coughs, his throat is so sore. “I drank - something at the party - red -” he’s coughing again.

Jaros is staring at Sybok, waiting for an explanation, as Doctor Shavok gives Spock something in a hypospray. “I - I know it's supposed to loosen inhibitions, weaken telepathic blocks. It kind of does that, to Vulcans, or telepaths, most species I think -”

Jaros shakes his head, and both he and Shavok seem to come to the same conclusion. “Tashar’triz’nho is an illegal substance, it should not have been accessible.”

“But that’s probably what it was, unless you know of something else that does that to Vulcans.” Jaros is coming back to Spock, pressing a sensor to his tongue. It makes him hack.

“But these effects are not documented effects in Vulcans.” Still, Shavok is adjusting the supplies he’s brought - he pulls out a detoxifier, something Spock knows is often used to aid with alcohol poisoning, starts prepping it.

Jaros clicks his tongue, adjusts Spock’s head so it’s easier to breath. “I bet it’s the iron in his blood. Vulcans usually don’t have his levels, the drug might be reacting to it.” Shavok nods, accepts that potential theory, and allows Jaros to assist him.

Sybok is in the background, looking horrified.

Spock thinks he hears ‘I’m sorry,’ but he tries to ignore it. Which is easy, everything else is already so much.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Sybok doesn’t even seem bothered to be pinned against a wall. In fact, he raises his eyebrows, smiles, looks impressed.

Spock will never understand him.

“It’s so good to see you, brother.” Spock is backing off, deciding to walk away from this. Before it gets worse. “I wasn’t sure if it was you, you look so different now.”

But Sybok is moving forward too, trying to keep them at a conversational length, and Spock stops walking because of course, it can’t be that simple.

Sybok doesn’t even flinch at the silence he’s met with. “How have you been? You look well.”

Spock stares at him, at the hair on his face, the human clothing he’s adorned with - it looks dirty. He is smiling at Spock, his teeth are showing. “Your mother is looking for you.” Spock notes that Sybok reacts much more visibly to that. “I have been informed that you have evaded the Vulcan authorities.” Sybok is not smiling. “She wishes to make contact with you. She is prepared to help you begin kolinahr so that you may return.”

Sybok looks furious.

Spock is only the messenger. Still, Sybok seems to rationalize somehow that Spock should be punished for it, and rumbles, glances away. “This is the welcome I get, after all these years? Are you mad, is this how you want to take it out on me?”

How dare he accuse Spock of acting emotionally, in this instance.

Coming from him.

“I am simply relaying the information I was given,” Spock says, crossing his arms. Refraining from glaring.

“Of course you were,” Sybok says, can barely meet Spock’s eyes before he’s looking in another direction again. Finally he brings his gaze back, meets Spock’s. It’s unreadable.

How very Vulcan of him.

Sybok moves forward again, into Spock’s personal space, and Spock can’t help but reflexively jerk away. Sybok snatches at it like a Klingon does battle. “You don’t have to be scared, Spock, I’m not going to hurt you, you know that.”

How dare he. How dare he.

“I haven’t seen you in years, and you don’t even let me hug you?”

Spock wants to punch him. Break his face and get away. Fight or flight instinct, that’s all it is.

Not that Sybok is a threat to him, not anymore. Spock is a Starfleet Commander, trained to subdue, debilitate, and kill if necessary. A recklessly emotional Vulcan is nothing.

As long as it’s not Spock.

“I contacted T’Rea’s people, they should be here shortly, I informed them of where you were.”

Sybok doesn’t like hearing that, not at all. He looks like he has five things to say at once, but mostly, he looks like he wants to touch Spock. Grab him.

Spock doesn’t give him the chance, stays just a little too far away.

“You could have heard me out. God. You’re, you’re always going to be like this, aren’t you?” Sybok is just shy of yelling, and it’s all kinds of shameful and bizarre, but it’s entirely in line with who his brother is. “You’re always so damn cold, like you think it’s going to get you anywhere, when all it does is push the few people that do care about you further away. I missed you, you know that?” Sybok is trying to reach out again, he notices Spock keeps moving, barely, and his hand drops. It fists up, Sybok’s jaw tightens.

Spock braces, subtly, for a fight. But he knows it is unlikely Sybok will move to attack him. Sybok isn’t a fighter - at least, he wasn’t the last time they met.

Well, not toward Spock, anyway.

Not ever. Just, just a fool. A reckless fool, with illogical ideas and no self control to reign himself in.

Like father, in some ways.

“You’re just like father, you know that?” Sybok is saying, and it’s all kinds of fucked because Spock used to dream of being just like Sarek, the version that disowned his brother, and now he can’t stand any of those traits because his father is an illogical fool and who knows what was even right. Who knows if his father has ever made the right call, rationalized it the right way.

Certainly, neither of them do.

“You won’t even give me a chance, your own family.” Spock often wishes he weren’t.

Has contemplated, sometimes, what might have been if Sybok’s mother never told him who his father was. If it had just been Spock and Michael, the whole time. No bad Vulcan to compare Spock to, to constantly fall short of even though Spock did every single thing every moment of his life more logically then Sybok ever has.

No bad Vulcan to compare to Michael, to belittle Michael’s accomplishments as nothing more than infinite diversity expressing itself the same as it expressed itself in Sybok - which is a sin, in Spock’s mind, to compare someone so noble to this joke of a man. As if it were anything alike. They are nothing alike.

Spock could have joined Starfleet, with her approval, with mother’s. Maybe father would have been less willing to disown his son, if there had only been one to lose.

But that is foolish to consider - one cannot change the past. And father still would have been wrong - he made one grave error of logic, who knows how many were made unquestioned before that. Spock can not assume anything.

“I could help you, you know, God. I want so bad to help you, Spock, help you fix yourself.”

“I am not broken,” he shouldn’t have said it, he should not have engaged.

“Spock,” how dare Sybok say his name like that. How dare he offer pity. Spock doesn’t need anyone’s condolences. His life is exactly what he wants it to be, will make it to be, no one needs to mourn that. Least of all family. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t worry so much what people think of you.”

He hates, that Sybok is looking at his fists balled up in his folded arms, that it’s being read as anger. It is, but Spock should be better than this, should be better at controlling it.

A vehicle stops nearby, and somehow Spock and Sybok are sure it’s T’Rea’s people. Sybok can’t stay here any longer, if he wants to remain free.

“I wish -” Sybok is still doing it, pitying him. Spock wonders if it's a manipulation technique, to hurt him, make him reveal emotion. Just like the boys at school did. They used to hit him, when their words didn’t work. But Sybok is much more brutal - he is precise. “I hope everything’s going well for you, Spock.”

And then Sybok is darting away.

Spock could try to stop him, help T’Rea, since he’s here.

But this isn’t his problem. Sybok has nothing to do with him. Not anymore.  


 

\----------------------------------

 

  
The next few days, things aren’t much better.

Perhaps, that is an exaggeration. Spock could reframe it - things are still somewhat chaotic.

Not orderly, not routine, not ideal. Ideal would be, whatever it will be like in several months. Once he can see his girlfriend again, once he can get used to being the second in command of a constellation class starship, once the Kobayashi Maru is finished with it’s redesign.

He finishes teaching his class for the day, and Spock is standing outside the doorway of his classroom, tightly gripping the string of the messenger bag hanging from one of his shoulders, his other hand frozen on the handle of the door, staring at a blonde woman who is resolutely blocking his path.  
  
“No more avoiding, Spock! We are going to talk about this,” the girl is saying, her arms crossed and her legs apart. Her voice is shrill and tense, and now Spock is tense too, he can feel his own eyes widening despite his best efforts to freeze himself right now.

“There is nothing to discuss,” Spock returns coolly, his hand dropping from the door, and attempts to skirt around her. It’s Leila. Again.

She’s supposed to be off on some biological expedition off planet. Just because of some break up - with some other human - she’s gotten it in her head that it’d be a good idea to come back to Earth for a little excursion. Well, Spock will be delighted the day her excursion is over. She’s been near stalking him for the last five days. He was grateful to escape her for the weekend.

She wants to talk. And by talk, she really means hurl insults that really stem from cultural misunderstanding, and then beg him to conform to human standards anyway.

And then lose her mind, utterly, when she realizes even if he did that, he still wouldn’t love her.  
  
She’s relentless, and actually grabs him by the wrist - which Spock can’t help but jerk away from, on instinct - halting him again. “You can’t just will my feelings away too, just because you don’t like them!” She’s causing a scene, and Spock is throwing a dark gaze at the cadets closest to him, to scare them off before the scene gets even bigger.  
  
There’s a petite brunette cadet who’s standing closer to the door than most of the others, and she’s possibly the only one who doesn’t promptly vacate when Spock glowers. The cadet is looking back at Spock in shock and confusion, clutching several books in her hands, and staring back at him.

Spock’s gaze softens, then returns to the blonde in front of him who has released his wrist, weary now.  
  
Spock sighs. A small, Vulcan kind of sigh, that no one hears but gives him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Leila,” he starts. “My office hours have already started and I need to-”  
  
“You’re already late,” she says firmly, her voice becoming more even. “And I’m here, now. And we are going to talk about this. And you are not going to run off again before we finish.”  
  
Spock looks the slightest bit appalled, at the implication that he ‘runs’ away from anything, and yet his entire body is poised to flee, to her credit, because she is in this moment, in her behavior, the direct opposite of what he finds pleasurable or tolerable.  
  
“There is nothing for us to discuss,” Spock repeats, has already said a ridiculous amount of times. “There is no longer anything between us, and any additional words toward that topic would accomplish nothing.” There is a segment of silence then, finally. Maybe she is comprehending, but then, Spock finds that highly improbable.  

Most of the cadets have fled by this point, but a few are still lingering even now. The brunette is looking panicked over by the door, eyes shooting from this Leila to Spock and back. Maybe she had wanted help after class.

Finally, she decides to drift away as well though.  
  
Leila, of course, still isn’t listening. And he tries telling her, again, that what they had was in the past, and shall remain so.

Then Leila covers her mouth with one of her hands, and sobs suddenly. “Just because you don’t feel anything,” she’s wiping at her face delicately, as if to disguise the fact she’s doing so, and Spock steps closer to her, utterly perplexed as to how to stop this.

Leila jerks away from him when he gets within a certain distance, and smoothly slides around him and walks into his classroom. So that she can drag this out even longer.   


\----------------------------------

 

On Friday, mother’s visage is on his home computer screen, conversing, because even though she’s in town, and she has been promised Spock’s time on Sunday, she still can’t seem to get enough of his company.

Even secondhand like this, over the net.

He presumes of course, she’s also partly hoping if she presses Spock long enough, he might give in and at least speak to his father, at least say _something_.

She thinks it would help. Spock disagrees. A man will never learn from his mistakes if he does not have to face their consequences.

But it does trouble him, that even just seeing his mother upset makes it that much harder for him to stick to his principles, on this. She can be very compelling - it’s why she’s such a great diplomat.

“So, have you talked to T’Pring lately?” Spock is sitting in front of the monitor on the desk, in his chair, absently picking at the squishy gelled plastic of the armrests. Really, he has work he should be doing, not this.

“Yes, two months, three weeks, and four days ago, when I sent my submission to the VSA psychology journal.” However, emotionally supporting one’s mother by enriching her with quality time when you’ve been separated for a long duration, is work of a sort, that he is in need of indulging.

“I see,” mother, sometimes, knows him better than anyone else in the universe. “Have you met anyone? Maybe I should be getting used to a new wife to be?”

Spock controls the ingrained biological reaction to choke. Swallows instead, tries to figure out how much he should say. “I am… not sure.”

“Well, let me know when you’re sure. I’d love to meet them, if you…. find anyone.” Spock nods.

She knows he and T’Pring don’t coalesce well. Like oil and water, if those substances were from whole other universes, and one of those universes was composed exclusively of dark matter. She’s probably wondering a whole host of things, but she’s too polite to voice them.

“Mother, may I ask you something personal?”

“Of course, Spock.”

“Do you know why father risked bonding to you? I am aware it can be dangerous, in certain instances, for humans. Compatibility of the minds is one issue, and that is a large enough complication in Vulcan matches. I imagine it was a consideration for - the two of you.”

Mother seems pleased to talk about it, perhaps most of all because Spock is not pretending his father doesn’t exist. “It was, a big consideration. It’s why we put off that aspect for so long - we got married under human law, years before that. But eventually, we couldn’t keep putting it off.”

She leans back in her chair, folds her hands, thoughtful.

She smiles, “Much to the chagrin of your father. He was so worried.” She looks as if she isn’t sure if she should have said that, but Spock is behaving. She smiles again, this time at him, because of him, not the memory. “There are tests that they can do, to predict the compatibility of a match, make a guess at how well the bond will take. Stay. For us, it was around 70%, which was quite good, for one of us being another species.”

“Humans are rarely telepathic, so it's hard to find a match that can handle the bond really equally. Even with us, your dad has to manage how much I can reach into it, make sure he’s not projecting more than I can handle across it. But it’s doable. Bonding with a human. Is that why you’re asking?”

Spock can’t help thinking about Nyota, how her hand jumped away. How she felt dizzy, wrong. He wasn’t controlling the flow of information across the connection very well. “I was just curious. Being half human myself, I imagine a bond with anyone will require somewhat more consideration than is usual.”

“Probably. I know… with T’Pring, that was one reason we thought she was a good choice. You two connected easily, in that way.”

Even though mother mentions her, it’s clear she doesn’t care who he picks. If he is with anyone at all.

As long as it is his decision.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Friday, technically, he gets a break.

Not that he’s telling his Captain that he’s actually obeying his orders, or anything. And slowing down, like he’s been told.

He needs to keep the captain on his toes, keep expectations low, that way if his workload ever increases, Pike won’t expect him to get it done so fast.

He really hasn’t actually thought it through that much. It’s just, Spock heard from the front desk person at HQ that Leila has been redeployed and left Earth this morning, and he’s been internally elated ever since.

Spock finishes what paperwork he can in the office, submits his updated crew suggestions for the Enterprise to Pike to consider and revise, messages the Kobayashi Maru cadet team who’s helping him improve it - tells them what he wants done by when. Then he goes out to get a bagel, some fancy one with cream cheese and tomato and lettuce on it. Later, maybe he’ll go to the gym, practice combat techniques. Or sleep, if he can convince his mind to shut down long enough.

He finds his way into a bookstore he’s never been in before, and it’s small and cramped and the shelves go all the way up to the ceiling. It’s homely, no doubt locally owned.

It’s nice to see so many hard copies, printed paper. They all smell distinct too, old parchment, and it's particularly charming. Back home, Sarek has a collection of physical books, like this, except all of his books are in pristine condition, and there is much more open space.

An alien of a race he isn’t familiar with is manning the front counter, and Spock is not sure how exactly it’s conveying its demeanor, but Spock thinks it is attempting to project friendliness. Spock likes how quiet it is in here. There are a few people chatting in little nooks, but the shelves muffle the noise, and all Spock can really hear are his own thoughts.

And once he sees their science collection, his thoughts are full of racing questions, if this author he likes might be on the shelf, if anyone’s original papers are bound together somewhere in front of his eyes, which information within each volume has been proven wrong - or right - now that all this time has passed?

Eventually, he’s kneeling on the ground in front of the shelf, several books pulled out and set around him, parsing through them. One is a book about common sense advice for various foods and liquids - it claims alcohol is bad and will dehydrate you until you die. Which, technically, anything could kill you in a large enough dose, but - it also claims milk will poison your body and rot it from the inside out.

A fascinating curio.

Someone is standing next to him, and Spock catches sight of the book in their hand - an old collection on physics, the name Isaac Asimov labeled across the spine. Spock has always enjoyed that author. He stands up, about to ask if he might examine the volume, when he notices who exactly the individual is who presently regards it.

Messy brown hair matches the fluttering lashes which shadow over bright eyes, as they peruse the words opened on the pages held open in front of them.

Spock eventually gets caught staring, at Jim.

The man just brushes it off, a smile as he gestures to the book in Spock’s hands. “Practical advice, huh? What’s it say about fixing migraines? I don’t suppose the solution is to drain someone’s blood?”

Spock simply looks down and flips through the pages to check. It seems the thing to do. “As a matter of fact, it does. Which is certainly not a medically supported solution.”

Jim’s returning the stare Spock had been leveling at him, and it feels like the justified thing to do, and so Spock ignores the prickle of awareness on his skin at the attention. “Would you like to look at this one?” Jim says. “I really like how it’s written, like a storybook almost. Asimov’s got a way with words, I wish I was this good at explaining warp drives, then maybe I wouldn’t have so many arguments.”

That left more questions than answers, but Spock just set down the bizarre text he’d been holding as Jim handed over the physics tome. “What about explaining them seems to cause strife?”

It turns out, Jim knows quite a lot about warp drives. And the various incarnations of starship engines. As well as various other systems. Quite knowledgeable.

Spock ends up debating him on the origins of faster than light travel, and the possibilities of which specific set of discoveries were the most necessary to have led to the current knowledge needed to have made it possible. In this, they were in disagreement. Jim seemed to think a stricter set of theorems was needed to develop the current systems, and then they found themselves getting into the debate regarding other universes.

“You know, there was a time when scientists thought our universe was the only one, like a bubble, and that if you went to the end of one, then you ended up at the other side of the same one. But that thinking totally hit a roadblock, because it refused to consider that if the universe had a boundary, there might be something outside that universe - even if no one could cross that boundary, it still could have suggested something was outside of it.”

“Maybe the scientists of Earth, but on Andoria, and later Vulcan, the concept of multiple universes existing in a similar organization to separate atoms on the molecular level was posited by some of the earlier philosophers, of a comparable nature to perhaps the Plato of Earth’s history.”

Jim ends up asking him to a nearby bar, as they’ve been debating in the aisle of the store for dozens of minutes and perhaps a bookstore isn’t entirely the most appropriate place to have animated discussion.

Being around lunch time, the booths are mostly full and Jim and Spock settle comfortably at two empty spots at the bar, Jim ordering a beer and Spock requesting a tea.

Jim is remarkably well informed in the field of science, and it’s refreshing to debate with someone who can actually keep up with Spock for the most part. In particular, Jim seems well versed in engineering and physics, less so in computers - but still putting in a fair share on the topic, and putting in far more credibility than a vast majority of the people Spock’s ever spoken to about it.

The man’s strong point is theoreticals. Not nearly as adept as some of the students - near prodigies - that Spock has been considering adding to the rooster of the Enterprise crew. But still. Jim is a big picture kind of guy.

Spock’s hoping, as a matter of fact, that the Enterprise gets just such a mission to explore the edge of the galaxy. It is fascinating to simply discuss the idea outside of work.

There is a mirror behind the bar, and it reflects the sunlight coming in from the windows. The place is very welcoming, bright and lively and the lunch rush is slowing down enough that it’s comfortable enough to not feel rushed.

Still, Jim suggests maybe they get out of there. The servers probably keep hoping they’ll order something - and Jim does order a burger and fries, to go - and the bartender seems underwhelmed with the lack of further drinks. Spock acquiesces, and leaves a generous tip when he enters his payment.

They’re milling down the street, still engaged in conversation, and Spock can’t remember the last time he talked so much without feeling the need to wind it down. Jim seems content to follow Spock, and eventually they end up in Spock’s apartment.

Spock doesn’t think too deeply about what his actions might imply, until Jim is already sitting on his couch, a glass of coffee in his hand that Spock has made for him, ranting on about ESP and how little he knows about it but how much he’d love to find out if it has anything to do with the impermanence of particles when they aren’t actively being observed. Then, as Spock sits down beside him on the couch, with his own cup of coffee, their knees touch each other, just because of proximity. And Spock realizes it may be a significant thing for a human - to invite someone into one’s home.

Jim has a leather coat that’s got a few smears of oil and dirt across the back and on the sleeves, like he left from a place of work wearing it, or else like his ‘bike’ was acting up before he’d arrived to the bookstore, and he had to get down on his hands and knees to check on it. Jim eventually takes the coat off, and the black shirt underneath has a touch of oil on it as well. Maybe the man is a mechanic.

Spock is trying not to look down at Jim’s jeans. He has the inkling that if he does, his thoughts may neglect the conversation and drift.

Jim’s lips look so soft. The scratch they’d had the night they met is healed, a light barely there line. But he’s got a cut underneath his jaw that’s a little too peculiarly shaped to have been from shaving, and a scratch behind one of his ears near his hairline.

Spock is genuinely impressed that the man who seemed completely adept and at home initiating a hookup can also be so comfortable in this kind of situation - just talking. Spock wonders if this is what human friends do, when they visit each other’s homes.

It’s nice.

Spock excuses himself to check his comm messages, and gets Jim another cup of coffee in the kitchen as he does so. Jim takes that opportunity to stretch out, peculiar that the man felt he could not do so before.

From through the kitchen entryway, Spock can see Jim stretch out his arms and lean back against the couch, pushing himself back into one of the corners and reclining, his legs stretching out before settling, more relaxed. The human is looking around, curious, eyes settling on the candles Spock has on a shelf over by a window that overlooks the street.

Once Spock is done, and walking back into the living room to give Jim his cup, Jim is standing up, frozen as if caught doing something, near the candles. Jim was sniffing them.

Spock just sits down on his couch again, waits for Jim to join him.

“I just, wondered if they smelled.”

“Sandalwood and saltinar.”

Jim takes the cup from Spock’s hand, their fingers brushing, then plops down beside Spock. “Saltinar?”

“It is from Omericus. My cousin teaches there, she sent it to me.”

“Ah.” Jim regards his cup, perhaps contemplating sipping it.

Spock pulls his own legs up, to cross them underneath him, and their knees touch again.

“Spock?”

Jim is not touching Spock’s bare skin, but the man projects as if he purposely knows how. It’s all awkwardness, lack of certainty, like a rush of wind smacking Spock across the face. Spock just tilts his head, stares back at him. He won’t bother acknowledging the feeling, those are private things, Jim doesn’t realize Spock is aware and Spock will diligently keep him from feeling unnecessarily more awkward over it.

Spock is about to say something, to placate Jim’s hesitance, trying to find some way to word it that will not give away how aware Spock is that Jim is feeling nervous. But the man reaches out and puts his hand over Spock’s while Spock is still busy contemplating. And that changes the situation significantly.

Spock can feel it. Jim’s interest. How his mind and feelings are engulfed with Spock now, distracted from the captivated interest in physics they’d had earlier. Even with Spock pressing his shields up higher, barricading them so that they each have more firmly established privacy, Spock can still read the spark of heat in Jim’s gaze as he stares at Spock and tries to urge silently.

Jim is moving himself subtly closer, and Spock notices he is doing the same.

Somehow they are ever closer. But still, maybe, at the moment, an almost justifiable distance. Almost. “I should mention that I have an appointment in an hour, so I would prefer not to -”

“I don’t want to.” Jim’s still trying to urge something, like if he captures Spock’s gaze long enough, he might find something. “I just want to -”

Spock knows. Spock’s leaning forward and kissing him, and is completely certain it is what Jim wanted.

Over time, Jim finds himself sprawled on top of Spock, careful not to put too much pressure on him, and in between kisses and presses, they keep conversing. And it’s nice.

A bit before Spock’s next pressing engagement, Jim leaves of his own accord. Pleasantly. He smiles as he leaves, saying “see you,” as he walks out the door. He leaves before Spock had even planned to start getting ready, it was very considerate.

The parting words are unexpected.

Spock wonders if he will see him again.

 

\----------------------------------  
  
Spock, as it happens, does see him again.

Three days later, Spock is in the monitoring room for command testing, Gaila sitting down nearby checking the settings on the screen and ensuring they are running correctly.

James T. Kirk, and his assigned fellow test crew, walk into the room beyond the window Spock and Gaila and Cadet Kara observe the test through, where the simulation is to be run.

Jim is wearing a Starfleet cadet’s uniform. Spock vaguely remembers having read the name James T. Kirk on reports of previously run tests by other administrators, now that he’s thinking about it.

Jim fails the test.

Spock remembers distinctly, now that he’s thinking about it, having read that a student by the name of James T. Kirk had received failing marks multiple times for the Kobayashi Maru, on the reports he’d seen.

Jim, when the test concludes, looks unsurprised at the outcome of his performance today.

The observation window is one way, and Jim exits the simulation room with his peers, talking with one of them - an older student, who has dark brown hair and a seriousness about him.

Spock supposes, he really ought not be surprised.

Of course something like this would happen.

He finishes filling out his report on James T. Kirk’s performance.

A cadet he has never had in any of his classes. A person who has no connection in the slightest to him.

Of course Spock had no way of foreseeing this. Just as Jim must have had no way to infer Spock was a member of Starfleet either. At least, until Spock had brought Jim home to his apartment the other day.

His apartment on the Starfleet campus.

Jim apparently had not found it pertinent to mention he was also affiliated with the organization.

Not that, Spock supposed, it was exactly necessary to bring up.

It’s just Spock was kind of trying to do the whole not-date-cadets thing at the moment.

Not that he and Jim were dating.

It was just. A thing.

Nothing really.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Spock, honestly, does not expect to see Jim again after that.

So, when inevitably, during the next week, he goes up to Captain Pike’s office to update his captain on the state of the Enterprise crew and the difficulty he’s been having trying to recruit the Chief Engineer Pike was hoping to get, well. Spock does not expect to see Jim sitting opposite Pike, on the side of the desk Spock often frequents, when Spock opens the door to the office.

Spock, as second in command to Pike, has not yet ever had a reason to knock before entering this room. Pike, in fact, has never asked him to knock. His captain has stated previously that he pretty much locks the door when Spock isn’t wanted.

So, when Spock walks in, Pike is finishing a tirade directed at Cadet Kirk. It sounds hostile.

And yet, despite the captain’s harsh tone, the softness in his eyes, and the crinkle near his lips, as if he’s fighting to keep his face stern, imply to Spock that Pike is simply being tough in order to be kind. Captain Pike often critiques Spock in just such a way as well. He says it’s because “that seems to be the only way to get through to someone as thick headed as you.”

“Spock, sorry,” Pike says now, tearing his eyes away from Jim. “I’ll be a minute. Then we can head down, can you get the plans for me?”

Spock nods, then exits and heads to the department console nearby to retrieve the relevant files. He can hear Pike comment, “you know, you remind me a lot of him. He used to be as much trouble as you. Well - almost.” The sounds were muffled, then, “You want to stay in the program, no more of this bullshit. I’m not vouching for you again, Jim. You show up, or I guess you really don’t want this as much as you say you do.”

More sounds Spock can’t quite make out, and then the two humans are exiting the office, silent.

Pike gives the cadet one more look, hard to describe, and somehow very similar to the one Pike gave Spock, after Spock railed Nogura in front of all of the other senior officers at the last group meeting.

They’re headed to another such meeting now. Pike heads down the hall after Jim’s exited his office, and Spock follows his captain to their meeting.

After Spock and Pike exit the ground floor lobby, while they’re crossing the campus, Pike gives him the same look he was giving Jim a few moments earlier.

 

\----------------------------------

 

The next time Spock sees Jim, he is taking the Kobayashi Maru again.

For the twelfth time. This time, he passes.

That is not the point of the test. Also, no one passes. Not by successfully surviving the simulation scenario, at any rate. That is not the objective meant to be evaluated.

Also, Spock discovers later, upon investigating the test parameters on the console Gaila monitored during the simulation, that the code for the simulation has been altered.

Which comes as absolutely no surprise. Altering the code would have been the only way to make the simulation play out the way it did.

When Spock goes to Gaila, to ask her if she was aware of the abnormalities while the test was running, she breaks down in a fit of mushed up words and apologies after staring for a few moments at the changes in the code he points out to her on the screen he has pulled up for her.

“I had no idea. I swear Commander, I -” Gaila sucks in a breath of air, clutching the armrests of the chair she is seated, trying to steady herself. Spock can appreciate that she is trying to be composed regarding all this. She is, really, an admirable person.

Spock would find it extremely out of character if she were to have purposely helped in any way.

“I thought there was something wrong with the program while it was running. But I didn’t see anything different about it before the test, and I’d checked it just this past Friday - it had been completely normal. All the bugs I fixed two weeks ago were still patched, and I didn’t edit them again, and my edits were still there, no new weird affects, they were working on Friday just like I reported they were, the fixes.”

“When it was running, during the simulation, it’s like the program opened up a whole extra set of parameters - well, obviously, it did, after all, the simulation ended wrong. It’s not supposed to be able to end that way.”

Gaila was looking toward the screen, but she was staring through it. “I - I wrote in my log that it did that. I know as much as you -”

“What is it, Cadet Gaila?”

“I,” Gaila titled her gaze downward, looking past the desk now. She looked furious. “Cadet Kirk. It was his test. His was the first test run after I checked the program Friday.”

“Yes, and the only run through of the simulation until we fix it.”

“He was in my room, Saturday. He stayed the night.” Gaila’s eyes were hard. “I can’t believe he would -” she looked up at Spock, making the same connections he was starting to in his own mind, “He asked me about work, about this test, sometimes. I thought he was just interested, you know. He’s real into computers, and - well, it’s not like I ever said anything confid -” Gaila’s face fell.

“I’m so sorry. I - I don’t think I said anything about the simulation itself, but I might have told him how it was written. He seemed interested in the algorithms, and the network we used, because - and I thought maybe it was because of some program he might be working on, or some internship maybe he was thinking of applying for and. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know how I didn’t think - I didn’t even think - if he is any good with computers, he probably would have heard enough to add an addendum to the program, Commander. I told him more than enough, to do that. If he knew how to write the finer points himself. He probably does.”

Spock felt another person might have placed their hand on her shoulder, in some attempt at comfort. He nodded, hoping that would suffice. She glanced up at him, curled in her seat, then let her eyes fall to the desk again.

“I shouldn’t have been so careless.”

Spock pulled one of the chairs from nearby, to sit down beside her. “You could not have known.”

She looked up, a sliver of hope. Spock would have to investigate further, but at present he felt Gaila had not done anything purposely malicious. She would likely face no consequences for this unintended consequence.

“In future, please refrain from discussing any of Starfleet’s technology systems to anyone who is not involved in the same project as you, using the same systems, unless a superior officer gives you orders or permission to do otherwise.”

“Yes sir.” She looked shell shocked.

“There is no formal policy on the specifics of what happened, you could not have known the otherwise harmless information you shared would be utilized maliciously.”

She nodded, otherwise still.

“I think I’d like to talk to someone in the information security department about this,” she muttered, maybe to herself. Her eyes were still hard.

Gaila cared a lot about her duties, her responsibility. Spock would not think it were a misstatement to say, she probably felt as heavily about her choice to be a part of Starfleet, and what that meant, as Spock did. She was a bizarre woman in her private life, as far as Spock might compare her to himself, but in work Gaila’s priorities were as well ordered as anyone’s could possibly be expected to be.

She didn’t deserve this. To get used by somebody else to forward their own selfish agenda.

“Please let me know if you’d like me to help in any way.”

She nodded again, still detached, lost in her heavily weighed musings. “Please let me know if you need me for anything else during the investigation.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

Spock is exiting a gym on campus, going through the hall toward the locker room, when Jim sees him.

The investigation has been ongoing. Spock presumes there will be a hearing in a few weeks.

Spock has not seen Jim since the test.

Jim has not seen him, been aware of Spock, since they’d seen each other in Pike’s office.

At least, as far as Spock knows.

“Spock,” the man says, as Spock is about to pass him. Spock isn’t looking at him. Does not want to. Does not particularly want to meet his eyes now, or in the future, without some kind of barrier or distance.

The man has the nerve to sound pleading, as he says Spock’s name.

Spock intends to walk right past him. He will deal with Cadet Kirk later, in a formal setting. About a formal topic, about his suspected academic violation.

He does not plan to ever address their previous intimacies.

Jim steps in front of him though, blocking his way, and moves to stay in front of Spock when Spock tries to pass him anyway.

“Spock, we need to talk.”

It seems Jim is determined to be an obstacle, and so it appears necessary to Spock that he should raise his eyes to meet Jim’s. Unfortunately.

If the man is feeling any particular emotion, if perhaps his brilliant eyes seem to be begging and pleading for time and attention, Spock is blocking out it all.

“Move, Cadet Kirk.”

“Jim.” Pleading. Too much, too out there, too visible. The more proper thing would be to shield it, keep it private. Spock doesn’t need to be aware of it. Jim does not need to make it so obvious as to scream it to the world around them. It is a miracle they are alone.

That could easily change.

Spock attempts to pass him again, and the man has the nerve to put his hands on Spock’s shoulders and take up the space in front of him and halt him in his tracks.

An irrational part of Spock, which is well suppressed underneath a generous amount of control at present, is on edge over the touch. Is absolutely revoted, is reminded of Sybok too short a time ago invading his personal space just like this. How dare this man hold him.

“Look, can we talk? I haven’t seen you since Pike’s -”

“No, there is nothing to talk about.”

Silence. Jim, despite Spock’s insistent drive to leave now, is immovable. And still looking at him desperately, willing something that will never be given.

“We are no longer seeing each other,” Spock says, perfunctory, sure no one is nearby to listen. “There is nothing between us.”

Jim doesn’t need to project his emotions like a purposeful wave from his body, and Spock’s shields don’t need to strengthen to block everything else out. The man’s eyes say enough, sharp, the quickest flutter of lashes, pain flicking across Jim’s face like a whip against their skin. His emotions all over his face, painted in too bright eyes, staring into Spock and refusing to relent.

“I thought there might have been,” cold, but Jim’s eyes are anything but, as they burn into him. “I like you, Spock. I don’t want to give this thing we were starting up. We shouldn’t have to.”

It’s like an echo. A much weaker ghost of a scene played out between Spock and Nyota. The roadmap of a future relationship, another collection of moments that might have played out and built up and strewn together, that ended the same. In some future Spock could make that same mistake, again, and still end up here.

Maybe he would always end up here.

Maybe it would always be like this. The wrong -

“I don’t want to see you again. I would prefer that we only know each other professionally, and forget -”

“Why are you so mad at me? What did I do?” A human tactic, to change direction, redirect. Put the blame onto Spock.

If he wanted to cut to the chase, fine. “You used Cadet Gaila to commit academic fraud.”

That pain was back. If only Jim could have seen Gaila’s face. Would her expression have given this man pause? Would he realize this hurt would be better replaced with guilt? These were questions Spock didn’t plan to have answered.

A face contorted with it, with pain. Fingers holding tighter into Spock’s arms, afraid of being abandoned, of being left alone in this hall.

“You don’t think - I didn’t use you. When I slept with you, I didn’t even know you worked at Starfleet.”

Now there was a train of thought. “Then you continued to wish to see me once you realized I did, and you felt it unimportant to mention to me that you were a cadet, a cadet planning to take a test I created, when you visited my apartment located in the same complex as a number of other faculty.” Spock felt very cold.

Cadet Kirk used Gaila. Maybe he used him. Maybe he used everyone. Captain Pike -

“It’s not like that.”

“So I suppose you didn’t use Cadet Gaila to collect information necessary to hack the Kobayashi Maru-”

“I’m not talking about that here.”

That sounded close enough to guilt to Spock. If a Vulcan said such a thing, it was because any other response might have been a lie. Then, humans are their own creatures. They might deceive with every word. It’s not as if their moral dilemma in such things was as clear cut.

“Look, I didn’t even know you had anything to do with that test. That was - something else - I like you, and I swear to you it had nothing to do with anything else.” Pleading. Like that was all Jim was capable of now, like the urge consumed his whole being, standing there holding onto Spock like he was a lifeline, desperate for something.

“Let go of me.”

“I really liked you, you know,” Jim says, still meeting Spock’s eyes. The human’s eyes are glistening, wetter than they were before. “I wish you’d let me explain.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Spock pushes himself past Jim, the human’s hands left clutching the space where Spock had been, as Spock leaves.


End file.
